


An Emerald-Coloured Nightmare

by SteeleStingray



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Assassin AU, Assassin Berenger, Enemies to Lovers, Escort Ancel, Escort Service, Forced Cohabitation, Hurt/Comfort, Lazar is a chaotic pansexual icon, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Past physical abuse, Torture in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 61,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/pseuds/SteeleStingray
Summary: Berenger is one of the most trusted workers at Arles; Laurent and Auguste trust him with all of their finances as well as with the 'jobs' that no one else can do. Jobs like the one at the luxe Hôtel Eloy.But when the job goes somewhat wrong, Berenger finds himself saddled with protecting an escort who may or may not be a double agent. An escort who seems bound and determined to make his life a living hell.





	1. Berenger Gets a 'Job'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kittendiamore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittendiamore/gifts).



> Hello again!  
> So I missed doing the side characters and I have always wanted to do an Assassin AU! Then nikanndros comes along with her fantastic Assassin fic on tumblr and I had to add on with Berenger and Ancel (with her permission)!  
> I kind of got the idea from the film The Accountant; Berenger seems like that quiet type that no one would suspect of being a ridiculous badass. And I also like the idea of Ancel just tearing through his life and ruining his peace and quiet haha! Don't worry Berenger will also confuse Ancel with his odd habits and terrible flirting ;)  
> I'm actually leaving for Iceland this afternoon so I might not be able to update next week, but I was so excited to share this, I thought I'd leave you guys with something before I go!  
> Enjoy!

** An Emerald-Coloured Nightmare **

**Berenger Gets a ‘Job’**

In a spacious, clean, windowless office behind an intimate, clean, windowless bar, Berenger looked over his day’s work written the brown-leather ledger in neat rows of black numbers. He entered them twice, once into the computer and once in his book, simply because he liked to have the numbers with him. They were simple and concrete and understandable; orderly where the world was chaotic.

And speaking of chaotic…

There was a flash of gold from his office door and he looked up to see his supervisor leaning against the frame, as casual and beautiful as if some sculptor had carved him from smooth white soap and left him there. Berenger pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Laurent.”

Laurent and his older brother Auguste owned the bar ‘ _The Veretian Blind_ ’ and the adjoining office where Berenger balanced their books—the bar’s budgets and…the other expenditures. Both were classic Veretians: long golden hair, husky-blue eyes, like ice, and a certain delicate beauty to their features. Auguste hid half of his fine face with facial hair a few shades darker than the unruly mass on his head but Laurent’s chin stubbornly refused to sprout growth; he was just beautiful. But more importantly both brothers worked for Arles, were deadlier than sin, and employed Berenger for more than his accounting skills.

“Berenger, are you doing anything on Friday evening?” He asked lightly.

“No.” The answer was immediate. Berenger had, as many of his coworkers so delicately put it, no life.

“Good. A job has come up. You’ve been to Hôtel Eloy, yes? More than once?”

Berenger nodded his memories making a quick mental catalogue of the place. _Glitzy, bright lobby, dark bar. Expensive and discreet. Mostly men with too much money and beauties with not enough. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign would buy over two days of a head start_. “Wet work?”

“Honey trap.” Laurent was wicked.

“You must be joking.” Berenger replied, deadpan. “Who on earth would fall for such a thing? Powder and pricks are out then?” Back to business just as quickly, Laurent twisted his lips in annoyance that his two main methods of killing were useless in this situation.

“Bastard doesn’t drink with strangers and I want it quick. Knives are too slow. No word on if he is into men in khaki slacks.”

“If he is, he might be better off dead.” Laurent nearly laughed aloud. “You give me the information and I’ll get it done.”

“I trust you with this. Let me know if you need anything.” Laurent said, the statue of his body coming to life as he pushed himself back out into the hall. “And Berenger?” His golden wedding ring caught the light as he moved his hand.

“Yes?”

“Wear your nice hotel suit.”

“Duly noted.” And then an afterthought after Laurent had already disappeared from the doorway, “Don’t put me with Lazar!” He heard Laurent’s laugh from down the hall.

 

His ‘nice hotel suit’ was not any shade of brown.

Black tailored jacket and trousers, a black oxford shirt with no tie and shimmering black shoes with black socks. In the wintertime he wore it with a heavy black overcoat and fitted black leather gloves. Colors were so tedious.

At least at Lazar’s insistence, the cuff links were not matte black but simple and silver. One was a miniature GPS while the other hid a recording device sending raw information straight into Lazar’s porn-riddled company computer.

It was difficult having a tech genius who spent his time smoking weed, providing unwanted opinions, and flirting with anyone over eighteen with a semi-solid pulse. Clearly Laurent had not heard his plea.

Over the oxford shirt but under the jacket, Berenger had strapped his black pancake holster against his left side, his black emergency piece so tight against his ribcage that there would be no puckering in the suit jacket. His briefcase—the nice one—was also black. He removed his glasses to put in contacts and a tiny silver earbud was inserted into his left ear. Lazar’s raspy voice instantly filled it.

“Evening Berenger, do you look like you’ve been fucked with a permanent marker yet? Good old squid ink _bukkake_ ensemble?”

Berenger ignored him as he tried his best to look like he would fit in at the bar of a luxury hotel. He owned a small tin of hair gel for just such an occasion and slicked back his brown hair so that he looked like he had just come out of the shower. He did the standard microphone test as he washed his tacky hands.

“This is the microphone test. Calibrating acoustics. Test, one, two, three.”

“Fuck, I can hear you fine, Casanova.” Lazar complained, no doubt bored out of his mind in whichever mobile tech unit Laurent and Damen had forced him into this particular evening. “Let me run my own tests, Brownie.” Berenger ground his molars together, too well-bred to roll his eyes; he hated foolish nicknames. He knew Lazar wouldn’t be deterred.

“Did you shave?”

“Yes.” His face was clear of the persistent five o’ clock shadow that would inexplicably reappear in the morning mirror.

“Did you put on cologne?”

“No.”

“Goddamn it act like professional, man! These highbrow bastards can smell a white-bread office drone like shit on shoes. You have to smell like you have money!”

“Alright, alright!” Berenger did not want to hear any more of Lazar’s rapid fire insults and applied three quick sprays of the only cologne he owned. At least it was musky and expensive and didn’t suit him. It had been a gift from Auguste.

“Are you wearing silk boxers?”

“Kindly fuck off.” His boxers were black.

“Then you are good to go! Go have fun at the hotel and just remember: I’ll be with you the whole time. Your shoulder angel.”

“Thank you Lazar, please be quiet.” Berenger begged. It was so hard to concentrate on his conversations with that wolf chattering up a storm of filth in his ear. Hopefully he would hack into the hotel cameras and spend the night rating the asses of everyone in the hotel, leaving Berenger to his own devices.

Lazar or no, Berenger never fucked up.

Placing five bills into the inner pocket of his jacket eliminated the need for a traceable credit card and he left his phone on the kitchen table. A company car was waiting for him on the curb outside of his apartment and he was pleased to see that it matched his clothes.

There was a manila envelope on the back seat and Berenger settled into the read as his driver drove them in a wild maze through the city streets to make sure that they were not being followed.

It seemed a straightforward job.

The man was Chauvin, sixty-eight years old, a councilor in the Veretian government. He liked black caviar and bourbon and taking bribes and—to Berenger’s infinite disgust—escorts from The Regency that erred on the side of barely legal. A picture was provided and Berenger memorized it. He was staying for three nights in the Hôtel Eloy, suite 1826 which was on one of the higher floors but gave more privacy; the old fool was staying incognito to satisfy some of his vices and thus was staying without much security detail. Two men at most. Too easy.

His reading was briefly interrupted by his driver. “We’re in the black.”

“Great.” Black was an auspicious color in his line of work. He was now ‘invisible’.

Laurent kept his descriptions brief, giving only the broadest details so that Berenger could recognize his mark even from a distance but not gain any sort of attachment to them. Instead, each manila envelope was like a puzzle.

Chauvin was set to arrive around 11:45 PM.

Berenger thought it over. He had given himself a three-hour head start; how was he going to get to the suite, shoot the man, and be out of the hotel undetected by 12:30 AM?

At least getting into the room would be no problem. Clipped to the file on Chauvin was one of those nondescript white hotel key cards that simply had to be held up to the scanner. Berenger was sure it would be a master key, and marveled at Lazar’s ingenuity. Or maybe Orlant, that urban genius with his forgettable face and quick hands, had blended into a crowd and swiped it from some unsuspecting maid.

He slipped the card in with his money and tossed the manila envelope back on the seat and allowed himself a few moments of thoughtful silence before the car pulled in front of the hotel entrance.

The Eloy was a diamond-like building in a jewel box part of town.

Twenty floors that reached into the first layers of clouds in the evening sky, causing the top floors to blur a little. It was made in a stout, sandy white rectangle but any blockiness was offset by rounded tops of the tall windows decorated in twisting wrought iron, the fairy-like whimsy of the main doors, and the sinuous violet-black script announcing the hotel's illustrious name twenty feet up in the air.

Like a candle, like a heartbeat the building looked elegant and intimate from the outside but was bursting with energy just below the surface. The front doors were constantly opening and closing. Berenger could smell money in the air.

He exited the car in one smooth motion, as soon as his driver tapped the brakes, and all but ignored the valet. The trick was to be brusque without being overtly mean; all that was required was a simple "No luggage, no parking," and he was effectively forgotten as a man who would not be providing a tip. 

Inside the quiet lobby, Berenger swung an immediate right to the low-lit, reddish 'lounge' area. Most of the hotel patrons would still be at dinner so Berenger was able to score a premium seat at the long stretch of the bar with a clear view of the front desk and the only elevators taking guests upstairs.

It was an intimate little lounge with low-slung couches and lower tables; the only bright spot was the entire wall of bottles, glowing like exotic gems and probably costing just as much.

Every action Berenger took while he kept watch was to be as forgettable as possible. 

As the time passed and the bar filled with the wealthy and the hungry, Berenger ordered and nursed exactly two drinks, making sure to order something mediocre with a low alcohol content so he was nothing more than relaxed; he tipped reasonably and offered no conversation to the bartender so he was left to himself. With his wet napkin he removed both finger and lip prints from the glasses.

Thanks to the ample time he had given himself to observe, Berenger saw the issue before Lazar whispered in his ear. 

"You've done too many jobs here. They've got them on every fucking floor."

Berenger nodded, taking a sip of his dark liquor. 

As a general rule, elevators were death traps and he avoided them as best he could. But when faced with an armed security guard waiting in the stairwell of every floor, he was sure walking the stairs for eighteen floors up and down would certainly arouse suspicion. 

In the elevator there was one bellboy whose sole job was to press the floor buttons though he too provided a unique problem. 

With a good forty-five seconds to the suites, he would have ample time to memorize Berenger's face and mannerisms.

He set his drink down and looked around for a moment to calm himself.

"Gonna scale the building?" Lazar was laughing and Berenger wished he was within shooting range.

"Let me think." Berenger hissed without moving his mouth.

The lounge had since filled with long bare legs and sultry glances of those who were waiting to be noticed by someone with loose morals and an even looser hand on their cash. Berenger purposely assumed a glassy gaze as he counted down from fifteen so no one would assume he was looking for companionship. 

He only paused when the most garish shade of red caught his eye. It was attached to a young man sitting a few spots down at the bar.

He was ostentatious to say the least.

Always quick to notice colors, Berenger took another look at the tousled rib-length hair the color of deoxygenated blood—that color that almost seemed unnatural—set against white skin peppered with orange-red freckles, the typical redhead. A quick scan of the outfit revealed a beige women’s trench coat, a simple black choker, and dancer’s calves encased in black tights leading to classic black heels; clearly he was Veretian and Berenger strongly suspected that he was an escort; he had seen Laurent in a similar uniform once or twice when some poor soul was found to be weak to golden hair. The young man was grinning like his drink had just told him something scandalous and funny.

He must have been aware of the gaze on him because he looked at Berenger over his glass. His eyes were dark green, envy green that had more fire than the red hair. Berenger looked away first.

He turned his attention back to the problem at hand.

Berenger needed that kid on the elevator not only to not greet him, but not even want to look at him or speak to him. He was a plain man but he was also tangible. He tapped his fingers on the bar.

Resting his chin on his hand, he spoke softly into his cufflink. “Lazar?”

“Yes, darling?”

Berenger felt deep and substantial regret but plowed forward. “How do you get people to ignore you at close quarters? Elevator, for example.”

“Fucking easy. People will ignore you if you make them uncomfortable.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Start undressing.”

“Denied.”

“Start undressing someone else.”

“Ok enough.”

Taking a sip of his drink, Berenger did seriously consider Lazar’s advice and found it to be true. When people were groping each other in public, he made his own privacy by looking anywhere but at the people involved. He turned back to the elevator with renewed interest, watching carefully, waiting for an older man with a younger companion to enter.

Sure enough, after only a few moments of watching, some decrepit old thing entered with hand cradling the bottom of a long-limbed woman in a dress that looked painted on.

The young man in the elevator looked up at the gold-paneled ceiling, discreetly choosing not to see.

That was the secret to invisibility then.

“Choose wisely.” Lazar sang as if he had seen Berenger’s decision through the video cameras.

It would be easy and difficult. He would choose the first person that he saw but actually speaking to them and feigning interest would be the difficult bit. The thought of buying sex, of all things, was abhorrent to him.

In one smooth move, he tossed the remainder of his drink down his throat, hoping that the sharp burn of the alcohol would give him enough liquid courage to pretend he was red-blooded and out for a hunt.

Wiping his lip print from the rim of the glass, Berenger turned on his barstool and was immediately knocked off his balance.

His knees nearly collided with the person next to him and when he went to apologize, his tongue went numb when he saw those bright green eyes again. The young man had moved closer to Berenger since they had last made eye contact and was now pointing that wicked smile his way.

“Hi.”

His voice was a breathy whisper, as if he had been waiting for Berenger to notice him and was now overcome with passion. One slender white hand gently rolled his martini glass creating a vodka vortex, the single olive as helpless to the flow as Berenger was to those green eyes.

“Hello.” He responded.

“Smooth.” Lazar offered unhelpfully.

There was a moment of awkward silence when Berenger decided if he truly did want to attempt seduction on this devilish redhead. Luckily the young man seemed to have taken it into his mind that Berenger looked wealthy and helpless enough to be worth some encouraging.

“You looked lonely over here. You waiting for someone? You get stood up?”

“Not…exactly.” It was hard to create conversation when he had not planned an appropriate backstory. And he was not creative. He could not exactly say that he was waiting for a man who was nearly seventy so he could sneak into his room and… “And you?”

“Mmmm…”

Always observant, up close Berenger could now see the young man had perfectly manicured nails—Veretian tips, with the blood-red line at the end of the nail. He sipped his drink, pretending to think things over, and his skin was so white Berenger could see the blue veins in his throat.

“Well,” his voice was so husky that Berenger doubted the authenticity of it, “I’m always waiting for the right person but no one has stood me up. I’m just here for the drinks and the…” he pointedly looked up and down Berenger with eyes that could not hide his hunger, “ _view_.”

Any question he had harbored until then was gone; the young man in front of him was clearly in the market for an expensive lay.

Berenger didn’t mind escorts, he just didn’t find them sexually appealing. He had seen too much of them, seen glimpses of their hungry, knife-hurt lives after the sun had come up. Desperation was a powerful motivator and he was reasonably sure that this man with the freckled skin had not fostered childhood dreams of servicing older, richer men for money.

Berenger considered.

He would need the young redhead to leave the room for a moment—really five minutes was all he needed—perhaps Berenger could suggest a shower and slip out. Another room would be better. The one next door or across the hall so he would not be seen as culpable; Berenger did not want to drag some innocent bystander into this mess, much less an escort whose desperation probably exposed him to a great many occupational hazards to begin with.

He would leave the young man all the money he had left as an apology for the wasted time.

He needed to convince the young man to come with him…

“Do you…erm…see anything you like?”

“You suck at this.” He heard Lazar struggle not to laugh in his ear and resisted the urge to rip the device out of his ear.

Red smiled, winking as if teasing Berenger for his awkwardness that might be mistaken for coyness. “Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me whatever you like, handsome.” Ok, it was a bit much.

“Subtlety is not his strong suit, eh?” Lazar commented and Berenger begged the gods above to have the man shut up. He could not focus and it was driving him insane.

“Erm, your real name will do fine.”

“Ancel.” Berenger wondered; it sounded like a name from an old Veretian novel. A doe-eyed hero’s lover perhaps. “And you?”

“Lazar.” Berenger said without pause.

“ _Fuck_ _you_!” Lazar protested.

“Lazar.” Ancel seemed to swirl the name around in his mouth, savoring it. “It’s sexy.”

Unable to broach the next obstacle of actually propositioning Ancel, Berenger allowed the conversation to lapse into silence again. Ancel was toying with his long hair when Berenger heard Lazar’s voice, more serious, in his ear.

“All right, smooth operator, look alive and wrap this shit up. Your mark is coming in. And it looks like the guards in the stairwells have soothed him. He’s alone; no detail.”

Only years of doing these kind of missions kept Berenger from whipping around in his chair. He turned leisurely, as if stretching, to glance out into the lobby. Like the most sensitive of predators, he recognized Chauvin by profile alone, saw the gait of a man with a lowered guard and felt his index finger itch. Chauvin got into the elevator and Berenger carefully watched the numbers tick up to eighteen, feeling calm and focused as the numbers filled his mouth.

He had almost forgotten Ancel as he turned back for his briefcase.

A toss of that wild red hair and a sticky sweet smile. “So—.”

“You’re an escort, right?” Berenger interrupted. “Let’s go to my room and fuck.” He slapped money on the bar and reached for his case. Ancel’s veneer slipped, his eyes huge in the shock over their little ‘flirtation’ ending so quickly.

Lazar sighed. “Dude, you fucking suck at this.”

 


	2. Berenger Gains an Unwanted Audience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting for me!  
> I have successfully finished my little inktobers and my big bang fic, so I can fully devote myself to this story! And it's been so fun thus far!  
> I love writing Lazar the most but Berenger is quickly becoming a close second favorite just because he's so calm and intelligent but he's also just awkward in social situations and has the most boring hobbies. He doesn't know how to deal with people being so forward and wild.  
> And before you might ask, yes Lazar does keep some crazy hilarious recordings of the shit their agents say undercover so that he can cheer himself up later on or use it for blackmail.  
> Poor Berenger, he's surrounded on all sides by crazy people!  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Gains an Unwanted Audience**

There was a long, awkward silence when Berenger was sure Ancel was going to laugh him out of the lounge and Berenger would be forced to coerce one of the tenderloin escorts who milled around outside the hotel to accompany him inside. But the desire for money and what was sure to be an easy lay must have been too sweet a deal to pass up. Surely Ancel would charge him at least twice as much as a normal client.

“So eager.” He looked up through his lashes.

“Something like that. How much do you cost?”

Another long silence where Berenger was not sure if he had caused offense or not but Ancel tossed his hair, if only to steady himself. “That kind of thing…is better discussed in private, don’t you think?” A slim, manicured hand slid up his thigh and Berenger resisted the urge to brush it away. Ancel seemed surprised to not find the fabric stretched a bit tight in the crotch, his fingers hesitating. “You do have a room here, don’t you Lazar?”

With a careless gesture, Berenger flashed the master hotel key from his jacket pocket and Ancel visibly melted into oily content, sexuality oozing out of his smallest movements.

“Well then,” when he lowered his voice to a whisper it became somewhat breathy and Berenger almost asked him if he needed a throat lozenge, “maybe we can go up to your room and…pound out the details?”

Berenger was already moving the moment Ancel said ‘go up’.

As he was slapping money to cover their drinks, Berenger slid his leg out of Ancel’s grip and snatched up his briefcase with a free hand. Ancel glanced greedily at the bill as if considering pocketing it—Berenger imagined in his earlier days that he would have taken it without thought—but instead he tossed back the remainder of his drink before snatching Berenger’s other hand, allowing himself to be led triumphantly through the lobby.

The receptionists behind the gleaming expanse that was the front desk barely even glanced at them, they fit in so well.

Ancel was perhaps playing his part a little too well.

His long limbs suddenly became coltish, like his single drink had made him into a tipsy, blushing virgin. More than once Berenger nearly cascaded to the floor as Ancel dropped like an anchor, nearly falling but always managing to collide with Berenger just in time.

Berenger felt sure he was covered in bruises, wincing by the time they got to the pearly elevator buttons. He did not even need to push it as Ancel all but slammed into him, crushing his back into the wall as he curled up against Berenger’s chest, fawning.

“Lazar…” He toyed with the top button on Berenger’s shirt.

“Mind if I touch myself?” The real Lazar asked lazily in Berenger’s ear.

“Do not.” Berenger said aloud and Ancel dropped his hand away from the button. “Sorry, I did not mean to sound so…”

“It’s all right.” Ancel interrupted. “Some men…like telling me what to do. There’s no shame in that.” A quick scan over that crimson head and Berenger saw that everyone was tactfully avoiding looking at the two of them.

“In that case, please stop pretending to be drunk.” Ancel’s freckled cheeks blushed and Lazar groaned in Berenger’s ear. “You act like some child who—.” His own words gave him pause and he panicked thinking of the tastes of some of the men who visited Hôtel Eloy and Ancel’s obvious youth. “Y-You are eighteen?”

Ancel blinked and then gasped a laugh. “Lazar! What an odd question!”

“ _Are_ you?” Berenger felt cold sweat.

“Do you want to see my ID?” He really was the most irritating thing; after telling Berenger he would obey, he was refusing to ask a simple question.

Berenger turned to walk away and Ancel caught him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “You’re heavy.” Berenger said in his frostiest tone. “And I will not buy a…a kid.”

The elevator opened with a soft _ding_ and Ancel glanced to the gold and mirrored interior—all that wealth within an arm’s reach. “I’m twenty, gods.” Berenger let himself be pulled into the elevator, in the corner furthest away from the button presser. “Let me be a bit mysterious, Lazar. Some men would leave me in the lobby if they heard that number.”

Berenger felt ill. “Eighteenth floor.”

The moment the button was pressed, Berenger saw the young man in his crisp uniform sneaking glances and appraising them both. With great reluctance, Berenger pulled Ancel up against him and felt the redhead curl into him.

There were lips at the collar of his shirt. “Mmm Lazar. You’re so bold all of a sudden.”

“I…er…” Berenger shifted Ancel to the side away from his pancake holster and patted Ancel’s waist.

“You wanted me to yourself?” Ancel added helpfully.

“Mmm…yes.” Berenger said attempting to sound like he was heartily aroused. “Yes, I so badly want to…see you without clothes on.” The bellboy discreetly looked at the elevator buttons, suddenly losing interest in his companions in the elevator.

“I cannot wait. I want you so much.” Ancel purred into his throat and Berenger resisted the urge to push him to an arm’s length. “Tell me more, Lazar.” Berenger cringed feeling a shiver of intense discomfort. Only four floors left. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me.”

“I’m going to…uhhh…fuck you.” Berenger scrambled for an idea of what a proper client would want to do to this bold redhead. “I’m going to…” Three floors, “fuck you twice. I’m going to…bite your legs.” Two floors; what the fuck did people do that was kinky and uncomfortable? At least this Ancel seemed into the idea or he was just very good at acting. “I’m going to slap you…with my dick.” The bellboy coughed and Berenger was sure Lazar was dying with laughter; he would have to confiscate any and all recordings before Lazar made it his ringtone.

The doors slid open and Berenger positively spilled out of the elevator, nearly tripping over Ancel’s long legs. The bellboy seemed only delighted to leave them to their own devices, jabbing the door button with his finger.

“1823 is empty.” Lazar spoke through laughter as Berenger was nearly shoved into an orchid arrangement. Ancel kissed his cheek and jaw like he had been lusting after Berenger for years. “Fuck, but he’s eager.”

“Lazar.” Ancel had quick hands and squeezed the crotch of Berenger’s pants with such vigor that Berenger yelped. “You can have me right here in the hall if you want…” The real Lazar cackled.

“No.” Berenger wriggled out of his grasp. “Into my room we go.”

As he passed, the numbers on 1826’s door seemed to blaze and pulse. Today they were the numbers of death. Nice, orderly numbers nothing at all like the red-maned tornado who he was now beginning to regret picking up.

His master key card worked beautifully on the room Lazar had suggested and Berenger all but bolted inside before Ancel could rip his pants down in the hallway. There was a delighted sigh from behind him as the door clicked shut.

“There’s nothing like a suite…” Ancel sounded genuinely delighted this time and Berenger could hardly blame him.

The Eloy’s suites were nicer than the penthouses in most other hotels.

The entryway and living area were all glossy red hardwood, like polished blood, windows stretching from floor to ceiling for a city view. A party of thirteen could comfortably fit in the living area, while the black marble bathroom could shower two full-grown horses. The bedroom was to the right, all whites and blacks save for the deep plush carpet that was a dark shade of crimson. The spotless bed could fit three of the biggest Akielons or, conversely, one rich old fucker and at least four slim, leggy things like Ancel.

It was plush, luxurious, and tasteful—an escort’s dream business location.

“I mean, look at the view.” Ancel said dreamily as his heels made satisfying clicking sounds across the wooden floors. “I could look out at the city every night and never get bored.”

All of his wildness up to this point was forgiven, as Berenger felt pleased to have offered him something beautiful and real. “Look all you like.”

He went to get a drink of cold water from the beautiful, fully stocked bar in the bedroom and formulate a plan. He took stock of at least two complementary bottles of champagne amongst the wines and brandies and vermouth so he was reasonably sure that Ancel would have a magnificent time without him once he abandoned the hotel entirely.

All he needed to do was to get Ancel out sight for a good five minutes…

“Did you grow up in the city?”

“In the mountains.” Berenger said. It was the truth. He liked the simple stately beauty of the mountains: the breathless gray peaks, the soft fog, the clear air. “I prefer the mountains, to be honest.”

“I like the city better.” Ancel replied; of course he did. “True, it’s kind of gross during the day but at night like this it looks like diamonds. One day I want as many diamonds as there are lights in the city.”

Berenger wasn’t sure that diamonds would particularly suit Ancel, but he didn’t want to upset such a cherished dream. He poured the water in his glass and the ice cubes almost looked like diamonds floating inside.

“I’m sorry I cannot pay you in diamonds tonight.”

“Maybe someday.” Ancel’s purr was back and it was much closer than before.

Berenger choked on his water as he turned around.

Ancel had shed his coat in one smooth movement and thrown it over the back of the chair closest to him. He tossed his long red hair over one shoulder so Berenger could see what little he had decided to wear that evening.

At least he had kept with the theme of black, though it—like diamonds—didn’t suit his pallor.

He was wearing lacy black lingerie, complete with garter belt and stockings. The top of the ensemble was made up of simple, lacy straps in highlighting triangles around his nipples. His nipples were so pale pink they almost blended in to his skin, the hard nubs of them swallowed up so much by the outer circle that they were inverted.

“Well?” Ancel spun around at a bounce, his backside jiggling. There were freckles there too, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and splattered him with ochre paint.

“You have nipples like a girl.” Was all Berenger could think to say.

Perhaps it was his tone or it was not what he had expected but Ancel’s cheeks turned so pink that it nearly obscured his freckles. For a moment he crossed his arms over his chest to hide the aforementioned nipples and Berenger felt a momentary twinge of regret at their disappearance.

Still Ancel was clearly a professional and he recovered quickly.

Even with just a simple, short walk, his hips popped from side to side, straining the black lace. Arms curled around Berenger’s neck and Ancel tossed his unbelievable red hair in a way that was probably meant to be sultry and enticing. “So…what’s your poison, darling?”

“Do you dye your hair?”

“Would you like to see if the carpets matches the drapes?”

“I would like for you to take a shower.”

Something like concern flashed briefly through the depths of Ancel’s eyes but he was nothing if not quick to recover. “I’m already cl—Do you plan to join me?”

“A _long_ shower.” Berenger added. He kicked himself for his brusque tone after Ancel flounced off to the shower, kicking off his heels on the way. He had not meant to imply that Ancel was filthy or that he would be as brusque and cool beneath the sheets.

He was, in fact, an escort’s dream.

After he heard the shower turn on he used the cloth of his jacket to withdraw the remainder of his money and place it in Ancel’s shoes. He grabbed his briefcase, listening once more for running water before he slipped out of the room.

Out in the hallway, Berenger smoothed his jacket to feel the reassuring bump of his pancake holster. “Am I black, Lazar?”

“Gods, you’re quick to cum. Yeah you’re black. I’ve got the reels going and I’ll send the cameras back up when you go in. Give me a heads’ up about thirty seconds before you come out.”

Berenger had popped open his briefcase while Lazar was chattering and had pulled out his other piece—his primary—spinning the nozzle onto the end with the ease of practice and popping a fresh cartridge in. Black leather gloves went on as well; he would leave no fingerprints.

“Noted.”

With steady hands, Berenger pressed the keycard against the sensor on the doorknob and he slipped into his feeling of ‘work’.

It was a clean, lovely, orderly feeling like numbers on the page. There was no chaos or surprise to it; even placing his briefcase by the door and pulling the door shut with a soft click was as natural to him as mathematical theorems.

Even now he slipped his finger around the trigger, he let the numbers float through his mouth unspoken. A .45 caliber model BE3AL2SIO6, 117 decibels with the silencer, 12 rounds, a maximum pressure of 21,000 psi, weight, length, firing speed, case length, bullet diameter…

Berenger was still swimming in facts and figures, his heart rate at 62 bpm, when he rounded the door to the suite bedroom and saw Chauvin pulling at his tie. The phone was on the receiver and there was a fresh, sweating drink on the bar cart; he did not hear Berenger come in.

It was perfect timing.

As Chauvin saw him, rheumy eyes widening in shock and horror, Berenger counted up to three, squeezing gently each time. One, two, three. _Pop, pop, pop_. Somewhat like popcorn popping and three spots of red blossomed on Chauvin: two on his heart, one through his forehead.

Berenger lowered the gun and the numbers dissipated. He could breathe.

The entire ordeal had taken less than two minutes, which was why Berenger often scoffed at how long it seemed to take Laurent and Damen to complete a job.

“Lazar, it’s done.”

“Changing the cameras back.”

It was the red that saved Berenger’s life. He saw the flash of it in his peripheral and then a glint of silver stabbing towards his neck; he moved just in time before the syringe buried itself in his jugular.

His body burned with the remembrance of his sparring lessons with Auguste and Jord and later those indefatigable Akielons, and he grasped the thin wrist that sailed past him. Ancel squeaked in pain and indignation, dropping the wicked hypodermic needle into the lush deep carpet, as Berenger cranked his arm back up behind him in a lock. With his other hand Berenger grabbed a handful of Ancel’s thick, dry red hair. _So he hadn’t gotten a shower then_.

Lazar was squawking his near-unintelligible country patois that emerged in the rare case he panicked, only to enunciate once Berenger asked him to calm down. “You’re alive? You’re ok? What the fuck is going on, talk to me here Berenger!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Berenger hissed into his cuff. “We have a…situation here.”

“Do you still have your dick?”

“Wh—you—of course I still have it!” Berenger failed to see how that was Lazar’s first concern.

“Oh then you’re basically ok.”

“You _killed_ him!” Ancel gasped, obviously catching sight of Chauvin’s corpse and Lazar must have heard his voice through the miniature microphone, “Berenger, who the fuck is that? Have you been compromised?”

“The redhead tried to kill me.” Berenger tightened his grip on the hair in his fist. “Or drug me.”

“Kinky.” Lazar responded. “Not many people get the drop on you. Who’s he work for?”

“I don’t know yet.” Berenger narrowed his eyes. If Ancel knew his plans then that meant there was a leak in the company.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Ancel hissed and yelped as Berenger twisted his arm a little. At least he had had the good sense to put on his coat before he had come to try and stick Berenger.

“Please be quiet. I fully plan to figure out who sent him though.”

“Well you can’t do it there.” Lazar said, sensible for once. “You shouldn’t linger. Either kill him or get him down here.” Berenger groaned at his choices, finding both of them distasteful in different ways. He released Ancel’s hair to reach for his small gun strapped to his side.

Nothing cemented Ancel’s status as someone with training more than his reaction to the movement. His pale face turned so white that even his freckles seemed to blanch. “ _Please_ ,” His voice was a shadow of a whisper, small and terrified, “p-please don’t kill me.”

“Son of a bitch, I… I’m not going to kill you but,” he withdrew the small gun, trying not to be moved by the panic in the young man’s expression, “I am going to threaten you. I’m going to let you go now and we’re going to leave this hotel. But if you try to escape or call for help on the way… I won’t hesitate and I’m an excellent shot. Understand?”

Ancel bit his lip and Berenger wondered if his loyalty to whoever had hired him would cost him his life. “Yes.” He whispered choosing his life.

“Good. Don’t move.”

Ancel must have truly valued his freckled hide because he stood in place rubbing his bruised arm as Berenger released him and rifled through his pockets searching for more weaponry but finding a hotel key card. He pocketed it before gently picking up the syringe, disassembling his silencer pistol, and snapping his briefcase shut. Berenger never took his eyes off Ancel and when he was finished he pulled Ancel up against his side, hip to hip with the added height from the heels.

“Now, we’re going to leave the hotel.” Ancel glared until Berenger nudged his spine with the muzzle and then he arched himself away from a blast in the back. “Keep your eyes down, no looking up at people for help. And mouth shut too. Lazar? Have the car come around.”

Berenger still prepared himself to run just in case Ancel decided to scream as they exited into the hallway and back down the elevator.

But Ancel followed every order Berenger had given him. He kept his face hidden by his hair and stayed busy biting his lip on the long walk through the lobby and out to the valet area, into the back seat of the black car.

Berenger would come to understand later that Ancel’s desire to live was so great that he would do just about anything to breathe a few moments longer. He would take stock with those quick green eyes of his and change loyalties, lie, fuck, beg, steal, remain silent, anything to keep himself alive.

In the moment they entered the car though, Berenger could only focus on keeping his heart rate and trigger finger steady, considering that there might be a leak, that there might be someone in another agency who knew who he was and thought that they might be able to get his guard down.

Ancel’s long hair looked black in the low light.

Berenger asked the driver to borrow his phone and immediately dialed the most important phone number he had memorized. “Boss? It’s me. We have a… _situation_.”

 


	3. Berenger Gains an Unwanted Roommate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might have to up the chapter count. Ooops! Haha!  
> In any case I've had a stressful couple weeks and writing this has been so cathartic. Maybe I enjoy making Berenger suffer a little bit so he could understand my pain. And it's time to reveal Ancel's 'agency'! I'm sure it will come as no surprise to everyone haha!  
> In any case, onto a hallmark trope and I realize that this is not how things would normally go for double agents but...bear with me and suspend some disbelief for the sake of the story haha! Also Laurent is just wicked as hell and probably enjoys messing with his coworkers ;)  
> On a small side note, this may be one of my favorite iterations of Lazar. I will definitely have him come back because I had such a great time writing about him :P  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Gains an Unwanted Roommate**

Berenger preferred to stand during these types of serious meetings.

While he was waiting for their ‘guests’ to arrive, he placed his briefcase on the kitchen counter next to the wicked silver syringe he had confiscated. His jacket had been removed and placed on the back of one of the chairs around the bare dining table so that his pancake holster and small gun were fully on display. And then he took up a prime spot, leaning against the wall so that he could watch but hopefully not be drawn into whatever conversation was going to happen.

He braced himself as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Laurent, Berenger noted as he swept into the apartment like a gust of cold air, had the innate and unique ability to make people sit up straighter and wither all the same time. Ancel definitely seemed to feel it and recognize the sudden fact that he could no longer use his exemplary beauty as weapon when compared to Laurent. Especially since he was tied wrist and ankle to one of the cheap, minimalist chairs around the kitchen table. Even greater was his shock and dismay when all six feet and eight inches of Damen ducked through the threshold and shadowed Laurent like the world's most fearsome bodyguard.

Berenger had taken Ancel to one of their 'fortress' apartments, the spartan safehouses that would be sold the day after use so that no one could track the agents from Arles. This current one was located in Ward Sunastreo, deep in Ios' turf, so everyone was untouchable, Ancel closer to rescue in death than in the apartment. 

Laurent carelessly tossed his expensive briefcase on the table, ignoring Ancel's jolt of surprise in favor of sitting on the table itself. Damen clapped Berenger easily on the back as he passed, before lounging on one of the armchairs in the adjoining living room. His dark eyes never left Laurent. 

"So..." Laurent began, "You seem to have picked up something interesting, Berenger."

“He—.”

“Berenger?” Laurent raised one eyebrow as Ancel leaned forward in his chair to yell at Berenger. “Your name is Berenger? You told me you were Lazar!”

“I’m Lazar.”

Lazar stumbled out of the bathroom in an embroidered red silk robe and tattered bunny slippers, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand, his sand-colored bearded dragon in the other, a thick roll of cannabis tucked behind his left ear. He was an affront to the eyes.

However, Laurent, who normally demanded poise and perfection from his employees, found his eccentricity amusing and let him do pretty much as he liked.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ancel hissed.

Lazar transferred the lizard to his shoulder so that he could take a bite of his cereal and then take out his phone. Ancel’s voice rang through the room a moment later, “Lazar, you can have me right here in the hall if you want’, and Ancel turned pink at hearing the blatant lie in his recorded voice.

“How bold, isn’t he Dord?” Lazar said to his lizard though he was looking at Berenger. He knew Berenger must have hated every moment of it.

“A-Are you going to rape me?” Ancel’s gaze went to Damen first, the fearsome Akielon giant. He could not know that he was in the company of four men who abhorred rape.

“No. “No.” “Fuck no.” “I hate skinny kids.” Lazar added unhelpfully through Damen, Laurent, and Berenger’s assurances.

“Who are you?”

“You should be quiet.” Laurent offered, his tone like cast iron, “You are in no position to be asking questions. In fact, when tied to a chair, an intelligent man would infer that he would be the one answering the questions.” With the very tips of his fingers, Laurent unclasped the delicate gold locks on his valise and let the two sides fall open on the table. Ancel blanched as he saw Laurent’s ‘methods’: delicate knives and daggers and needles sharpened and shimmering like liquid silver.

“Lover.” Damen’s voice was both cautioning and nervous. Even though they were married, he still thought of his husband as some whirling dervish, a man who could never truly be tamed.

Laurent smiled at him, his fingers dancing over the mirrored blades.

He selected a superb butterfly knife, the two separated bars of the handles as slender as his fingers, and began to play with it. The knife made wicked silver arcs as it flashed through Laurent’s hands. He was so adept, he did not even need to look down to judge the safety of his fingers.

Ancel watched him with obvious terror and admiration.

“Let’s begin with the easy bits. You must be Ancel—if not I’m sure we’ll get a real name out of you eventually.” He added the last thought on as Ancel opened his mouth to interrupt. “We know you tried to kill Berenger, a man under my employ, with whatever is in that needle. Would you care to tell me who gave you such instruction?”

Berenger shifted his gaze to Ancel. The young man was biting his lip again, clearly deciding whether or not to betray the people who had given him orders. The briefcase filled with knives was clearly a huge deciding factor.

His decision was expedited when Laurent made to stand from his place at the kitchen table, the knife never ceasing to spin. His eyes became enormous and his teeth released the chapped bottom lip.

“I—.”

“No lies.” Laurent interrupted, relaxing back into his seat. Berenger knew from experience that Laurent only interjected as an annoyance, keeping Ancel from doing the same later on. Ancel glared.

“My name is Ancel, I swear,” then he was a little fool to use his real name, Berenger thought to himself, “and I-I’ve never killed anyone before. I was just…trained to get information from…from who they tell me too.” Rather than appearing embarrassed at proclaiming himself a whore at the beck and call of murderers, Ancel tilted his chin out defiantly as if daring them to judge him.

What he couldn’t have known was that Lazar been doing his research in the unnerving way only he could. Lazar and Dord had probably seen every detail of Ancel’s life and were fact-checking him as he spoke. Any lies, Laurent would handle in his own way.

Laurent looked to Lazar who nodded. “Yes, judging by your careful handling of Berenger that is readily evident.” Berenger shook his head at their teasing.

“You say you were trained,” Damen noted and Ancel jumped at his attention, “by whom? Who do you work for?”

It was clearly a question Ancel had been dreading. Rather than drooping, he seemed to shudder with energy. Lazar also took on a grim look as he scratched Dord’s thorny chin.

“I-I…” Something deeper than loyalty was holding the confession inside. He was pale and terrified, the desire to live obviously warring with the fear of his employer. Laurent was so intrigued that he stopped spinning his graceful butterfly knife. “I work for…Regency.”

Ah, he had gambled his life on this then.

The mood in the room turned positively crystalline and everyone tried to avoid gazing in Laurent’s direction. Berenger had heard the stories whispered around The Veretian Blind on occasion and Laurent’s iciness whenever Regency was mentioned only solidified the ring of truth the stories had.

The Regency dealt in the most secret of liaisons.

Their fronts, he knew, were Gentlemen’s Lounges and Pet services for the wealthy and powerful, but there was rot not too far under the surface. Honeypot agents were their specialty: beauties specially trained to suck out secrets more efficiently than they sucked out cocks, to listen for whispers and divine weaknesses, even to kill in the often unguarded bed of a lover.

Unforgivable was their penchant to kidnap children, to train and sell them to those in power they could blackmail.

From what he had heard, Berenger understood that Laurent had almost suffered the same fate at thirteen, falling to the dark pit of the Regency for two months before Auguste had rescued him in a bloodthirsty raid. He and Auguste had never spoken to anyone in the company about what had happened so Berenger had no idea how such a thing had come out but he was sure as hell not about to ask.

It also did not help that Auguste and Laurent’s uncle was the head of the entire operation.

Ancel must have been one of those pitiful, beautiful souls—tricked, sold, kidnapped, or poor enough to have joined their ranks—and it was clear he felt the tension acutely. He alone did not look away from Laurent.

“A-Are you…are you going to kill me?”

Damen felt comfortable to move and speak. “No. We won’t. Please continue.” And then, “ _L—Husband_.” Truly a pro, even when filled with emotion he did not let slip Laurent’s name in front of Ancel.

“Right, right. As he said, continue.” As if to showcase his sincerity, Laurent placed the butterfly knife back into his briefcase.

Even so, men like Ancel could taste violence in the air and Berenger was unsurprised that his tone reflected his inner turmoil. He was breathy with panic. “I-I swear, I didn’t know anything more than what my…my handler told me! They gave me my mark and the hotel card and the syringe in case anything got fucked up. I…I thought it was just sleeping stuff—I…I’ve never… _killed_ anyone before. I’ve only ever done trap jobs…honestly.”

With an expert’s eye, Laurent inspected the syringe. “This is most certainly poison. You must either be very foolish or very naïve and escorts are generally not very naïve.”

Damen stepped in before Ancel could argue back and lose. “You have yet to say who your mark was and why.”

Ancel was clearly deciding.

Though Berenger knew the Regency would have him disappear for falling into enemy hands, perhaps he held a small glimmer of hope that they might take him back. “My mark was the man L—Berenger shot.”

Lazar started laughing. “Baby’s first assassination attempt.”

Ancel’s nostrils flared with fury. “I wasn’t going to kill him! They would have sent…somebody else. No I had to deliver something to him. That’s why I had the hotel key. My handler told me to find a client, slip away during the night and go to the mark’s room to hand off the…”

“Where is it?” Lazar asked.

“Heel of my shoe.” Ancel surely regretted his decision as Lazar downed the rest of his milk before loping over to snatch the expensive heels off Ancel’s feet, severing the heels from the shoes against the kitchen table. “Oh _fuck_ you.”

“Small price for blackmail.” Lazar replied, taking a deep breath out of each ruined shoe before slipping them back onto Ancel’s feet. “And no thanks. As I said, I hate skinny kids.”

At first Ancel opened his mouth, clearly about to snap at Lazar for the constant references to his profession, but then Berenger saw sense take over as the scarlet tips of his nails dug into his palms.

“Now…” The enormity of his situation seemed to hit him and for a moment Berenger wondered if he was going to cry. But that fiery temperament rushed back to him and he glared at them all. “Now you have to protect me!”

Laurent seemed to be astonished by the constant demands of someone they were holding prisoner. “How bold of you to make demands. You’ll not cry and beg for your life?” His grin was a little wicked and Ancel clenched his fists so tight Berenger wondered if they would see blood run down his wrists.

“I _never_ cry. It will ruin my best weapon.”

Laurent shrugged as if the sentiment was debatable. “And why should we protect you?”

“You’re obviously in a line of work close to mine. I can tell you everything I know.” Ancel offered immediately. “I’m close to the top-tier ranks at the Regency so I know important people and their secrets. I can tell you where to find them and where the new product is coming in and going out.” That would certainly catch Laurent’s attention; he hated trafficking. “I know a large amount of their clients and some people they have on the payroll. They probably have no idea where I am and probably think I’ve tried to pull some stupid shit, like trying to run away. They won’t suspect I’m with you until they really can’t find me! If you move quickly, I can help you catch some of them by surprise.”

“And why should we trust you?” Berenger asked, unmoved. He knew that Laurent would like the idea of helping someone out of the Regency but Berenger did not trust honey trap agents so easily. They had polished their tongues to silver. He was rewarded with a distrustful glare from Ancel.

“Because…even if they think I ran away they’d still…” Ancel shook his head. “It will be bad. My mark is dead too so I’d get punished.” A ripple seemed to run down Laurent’s skin. “If they found out you questioned me and took the USB in my heel then, I don’t think you’d ever see me again.” Unrepentant, he glared at them, as if daring them to condemn him to death. “I can be very valuable to you.”

“Well you’re certainly a good smuggler.” Lazar offered. He had pulled out a pocketknife and was dissecting one of the heels. “Maybe we can hide some stuff up your ass.”

“We’re not going to do that.” Laurent replied immediately.

Laurent looked to Damen, Berenger looked at the syringe that had almost gone into his neck, and Lazar looked at Dord. Ancel sensed that his fate was being decided and he lost the bit of edge and defiance in his tone.

“ _Please_.” He whispered using the only bargaining chip he had left. “I don’t…want to be killed. You can do whatever you want to me but just…don’t send me back to those bastards. They don't make it quick.”

They knew. They all knew how slow and ugly it was.

Suddenly the choice was between taking in a possible double agent and simply receiving bogus information or condemning a young man to torture and death. Even Berenger, usually so impartial to these things, was a little swayed by the thought.

“We can discuss this elsewhere.” Laurent said, pushing himself off the table and Damen stood at nearly the same moment. Berenger was amazed at how synchronized they were. “Lazar, Berenger, bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Lazar sighed happily. “Pardon the noise, Red.”

“Don’t call me ‘Red’.”

“Don't go anywhere.” Damen warned, deadpan, and Ancel looked down at his bonds in confusion. Berenger heard Laurent stifle a laugh from the bedroom.

It was just as bare and cold and uninviting as the kitchen. Berenger sat stiffly in one of the chairs by the vanity and counted gently to himself and prepared for the upcoming debate that was surely about to take place.

Lazar lit up his blunt the moment the bedroom door was shut. Laurent rolled his eyes at the level of professionalism in his tech genius.

“Well Lazar?”

“He’s telling the truth.” Lazar said with lazy confidence, “At least as far as I can tell. He’s twenty years old, former gymnast and dancer, apparently very good at arson. We’ll have to watch the flammables because from what I can see, forty percent of his house calls have ended in a charred house. Carpet does match the drapes. Probably a runaway, joined Regency around fifteen or so though he may have lied about his age. Five years is a long ass time to deal with those fuckers.” Dord vigorously bobbed his triangle head up and down as if in agreement. “I’ll have to see what’s on that USB though.”

“Disgusting.” Damen offered, equally as honorable and disgusted with sex crimes as his husband.

“Berenger, you spent time with him.” Laurent said. “What do you think?”

“I…I am concerned Ancel might be a double agent. If we let him get close to one of our men, he might hand the information back to the Regency.” He waved the pungent smoke from his face. “Call it Veretian distrust but I feel that he isn’t being completely honest.”

“A dishonest prostitute, say it ain’t so.” Lazar blew smoke in rings.

“He might have only needed an opportunity.” Laurent thought aloud. “He seems intelligent enough and values his life enough to know not to run away. If we offer this to him…”

“Maybe put him with someone low level.” Damianos offered, “Or someone without access to a lot of information so—if in the case he is a double he won’t get anything new. Right now he doesn’t know who we work for or why.” Laurent beamed up at him; it was still a close-guarded company secret that Ios and Arles were now one organization at the higher level and Damen’s presence would throw Ancel off. “Hell, he only seems to know Lazar and Berenger.”

“You almost slipped up.” Laurent pointed out and Damen pushed him gently.

“We’ll need to put him with someone trustworthy and frigid.” Lazar pointed out. “The Regency prides itself on making agents that can slip through anyone’s defenses given enough time.”

It usually took Laurent some time to make these kinds of tactical decisions when it came to the company and its’ assets. But he had to expedite the process with so much at stake. Berenger knew he desperately wanted to land a solid hit on the Regency.

It only took a few moments of deliberation before he looked up at his husband. “Do you think,” and then rapid Akielon followed, too quick for Berenger and Lazar. The plan had an added benefit in that it made Damen smile, his cheek dimpling deep. Laurent looked flustered.

“Auguste trusts you, I trust you, and he trusts you. I think it will be ok.”

“You think I’m insane to consider this.” Laurent looked to Berenger and Lazar as if he was asking their opinions. He was not. Save for Damen and Auguste, Laurent never wavered on anything.

“You’re the boss.” Berenger said.

“So yes.” Lazar laughed.

“You’re right, I am the boss. I’m sorry Berenger.”

Berenger shrugged. He was used to Laurent’s seemingly wild requests. He only pitied the poor sap who would get saddled with the babysitting job.

Ancel perked up when the four of them exited the room.

“You’re going to accept.” He said without hesitation. He must have seen something in their expressions.

Damen sat on the couch again, jolting in surprise as Laurent sat on his lap and draped Damen’s arms over his shoulders. He looked unassailable from his position. “Yes. With some stipulations. You’ll be giving us names and locations tonight when those check out we’ll get more information from you on the operation as a whole and try to have you establish contact. If you’re lying—.”

“I’m not lying!” Ancel interrupted. “I want out, I swear to the gods. And I’ll need money for when you decide to drop me.”

His audacity was almost impressive.

“We can discuss payment later.” Damen assured him.

“In the meantime,” Laurent said tapping his fingernail on his two front teeth, “We’ll need to house you somewhere you’ll be safe. With someone who can guard you properly, someone my uncle would never suspect. Someone trustworthy who you know already so we don’t put anyone else in our organization in danger.”

Berenger felt a cool drip of premonition travel down his spine to his ass, making his body clench in preparation for the blow. He did see Lazar smiling and knew that Laurent would be gazing at him like some benevolent angel. No one ever suspected the accountant, with his battered brown work briefcase and his tweed overcoat. Now he understood the preemptive apology.

“Gods.” Berenger whispered.

“Berenger?” Laurent’s voice was terrifyingly sweet. “Your apartment is very secure is it not?”

Berenger cleared his throat. “It is.”

“Security guard? Home alarms? Metal doors with sturdy locks? Video cameras? Guest bedroom?”

“You know it does.”

“Are you weak to blackmailing redheads who assault you in hotel hallways?” Lazar added unhelpfully. Dord, as stoned as a lizard could be, studied Ancel between heavy yellow eyelids.

“No.” Ancel was staring at Berenger with open disgust.

“Good. A job has come up.”

 _Fuck_.

 


	4. Berenger Gets a Call From His Credit Card Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now until the foreseeable future, each chapter is going to be titled with Berenger's most recent headache. After this little debacle, I'm sure he's going to learn his lesson haha!  
> Also in the coming weeks, I will be traveling home (11 hours!!!!! OTL) for the Thanksgiving holidays, I'll also be posting my Big (mini) Bang fic soon, and I'm trying to pound out a chapter or two from my unfinished Spartacus fic so don't be alarmed if I miss an update or two on this story! I'm still working hard on it; I just have a lot going on!  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Gets a Call From His Credit Card Company**

It was a long night by Berenger’s standards.

Damen and Laurent made use of Lazar’s mobile tech unit—this time the van had been painted with an advertisement for fine Patran catering—to question Ancel at length on all the time-sensitive information on the Regency.

Berenger called a cab home while they did.

The less he knew about what Ancel had confessed, the better. Lazar would drop the young man off at Berenger’s apartment after they had completed the ‘interview’ and, in the meantime, Berenger would prepare his apartment for its’ first ever overnight guest.

Though the rooms were clean and his guest bedroom had fresh sheets, he took care to gather all of his weapons and stash them away in the safe hidden behind a wall panel in his closet before catching a few hours of sleep. He was usually in bed by ten P.M. sharp so he was feeling a little less than fresh when he woke up for work at six AM.

Ancel was not brought to his apartment until quarter til seven and Berenger was pouring coffee into his dented silver thermos.

“Who are _you_?”

Ancel looked exhausted and horrified from where he was standing in the doorway, Lazar standing behind him, somehow having broken past Berenger’s door code. Someone had gotten Ancel a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants; there was no telling if the lingerie was still on underneath but Berenger was relieved he was in something sensible and comfortable.

“Ah…yes, we were never formally introduced. My name is Berenger. I’m an…accountant.”

Lazar cackled. “I’ve never had an accountant who could fucking murder me so well.”

“You don’t _have_ an accountant.” Berenger said. “In any case, welcome to my apartment. You might…get comfortable.”

“Berenger,” Ancel seemed to swirl the name around in his mouth but seemed less pleased than he had in the hotel bar, “you look like the human embodiment of the Department of Motor Vehicles.”

“Don't be rude!” Lazar said through laughter, as insincere as usual.

Berenger ignored them both. “Coffee?”

“Don’t worry Red, he looks like that ninety-nine percent of the time.” Lazar ruffled Ancel’s hair. “Yes, coffee please.”

“ _Don’t_ call me Red. And what happened to your _clothes_?”

Berenger looked down at his brown sweater and khaki pants. “I don’t sleep in that suit. Lazar, the honey is above the spice rack.” He saw Lazar searching for it and did not want the man rummaging through his cabinets.

“You should.” Ancel whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“What is wrong with my clothes?”

“My parents have shag carpet in the same color as your sweater.” Lazar offered unhelpfully.

“Whose side are you on?” Berenger almost snatched his honey back over the betrayal.

Ancel rolled his eyes. “The right one.”

Berenger elected to ignore his snide comments. “Ancel, the spare bedroom is down the hall on the right. I’ve left you a toothbrush out and my card is on the table for if you get hungry when you wake up. If you need anything, I left a list of contacts by the landline—.”

“Bedtime by 9PM sharp.” Lazar interrupted in between pouring honey straight down his throat. “Right after the evening news.”

“Please. I’m asleep at 10 PM. Will he be ok?”

“Got a man working security while you’re out. And no leaving, Freckles.”

“I know, I know. God, you fucking asshole.” Ancel hissed at Lazar before padding off to the spare bedroom.

“What a brat.” Lazar laughed before the bedroom door had even shut. “He’s a real firecracker. You’re going to have your hands full with him. But during the day he should be quiet. All escorts sleep during the day and stay up all night.”

“You shouldn’t tease him.” Berenger snatched his honey back before Lazar drank the whole bottle. “When do you sleep, by the way?”

“After some hardcore fucking. Listen,” Lazar sat on his counter and began searching around in Berenger’s spices, “things might get rough with the Regency. Don’t let him out unless you’re with him, ok?”

“Duly noted. I’m headed out so I might have to impress on you to leave.” Lazar mixed cinnamon and salt in his palm before swallowing it. “Gods, are you human?”

“I don’t want to hear that from Beige Boy.”

Berenger followed Lazar out and shot one last look inside his apartment.

It was quiet in the apartment and Berenger wondered if Ancel had already fallen asleep. Surely there would be long red hairs all over his sheets by the end of the week. There was a small feeling of fear, wondering if this was the calm before the storm.

He hoped the storm would not be let loose in his home and counted backwards from ten before he shut the door.

 

The storm came at half past three PM from the unlikeliest of places.

Though it was a Saturday, the previous night had gone in such a wild direction that he chose to go in to file his reports as soon as possible while the memory was fresh. He could take a different day off in any case.

And it seemed everyone else was working the weekend anyway.

Berenger was warm and serene in a sea of figures, Laurent and Damen having holed themselves up in Laurent’s office for the day, while Auguste was out, most likely causing some hell for the Regency.

Berenger’s cell phone rang and he was surprised it was not one of the five people in his phone or his dentist. Risking the chance of a telemarketer, he answered and memorized the number.

“Is this the cardholder,” the woman had a cool and friendly customer service voice as she rattled off the numbers to Berenger’s bank account, “Berenger—?”

“Yes, it is. How may I help you?” Berenger interrupted before he could hear his last name. “Is there something wrong with my account?”

“Sir, we’ve detected some suspicious activity on your account. We know you’ve set a limit on your monthly expenditures and…the amount spent this afternoon is…substantial.”

Berenger sighed. Must have been a hell of a lunch.

“I’ve put a hold on your account.”

“Thank you.” Berenger was already reaching for his jacket. “Might I ask what has been purchased?”

The woman on the phone cleared her throat before rattling off the list of brands. C by Charls, Kemptian Silks, Le Rubis, Alexon, brand names that Berenger had walked past downtown. He winced thinking of the price tag of a single white shirt at C by Charls. He also felt a spasm of panic thinking that Ancel had left the apartment on his very first afternoon.

So intent on getting home before his home burned down or Ancel discovered any petty cash he had left in his drawers, Berenger only texted Laurent and Auguste that he was leaving as he was halfway out the door.

He came back to utter chaos in his apartment.

Takeout boxes filled with pasta in cream sauce, lamb chops, and delicate half-eaten pastries, crumpled napkins, and half-empty wine bottles were littered over the previously clean table. The television was on, although the sound was muted in favor of the speakers blaring some song that Berenger imagined would play at a strip club. His down comforter was draped over his couch, pillows thrown haphazardly on the floors.

Dread built up slowly as he made the short, arduous walk to his spare bedroom.

It looked as though a gift-wrapping facility had exploded inside. Tissue paper was strewn carelessly on every flat surface so that Berenger’s steps crunched. He counted ten glossy bags that were not half-buried, seven large designer shoeboxes, and smaller boxes that he strongly suspected contained jewelry.

Irritation welled in his temples and he forced himself to pause and count something. He settled on his heartbeat and waited until it was slow and calm before he continued on to the adjoining guest bathroom.

The counter was littered with any number of cosmetics and creams, the empty boxes spilling into the bowl of the sink and onto the floor. It was inexplicable how one human being could make such a mess in a single afternoon.

The offending party was only visible by his bright red hair and his red-violet glass of wine from under the mountain of foam filling the tub.

“What are you doing?” Berenger asked.

“Oh, you’re back.” One long, slender leg reared out of the bubbles.

“Of course I’m back. This is my apartment. Would you—?”

He did not even need to finish. Ancel rose from the bubbles in a cloud of jasmine scent, tossing back the rest of his wine and Berenger looked away. The reds seemed somehow unreal in comparison to the white foam and white skin.

His cock matched those pale pink nipples.

As Berenger counted the bathroom tiles, Ancel laughed. “Look all you like. I don’t give a shit.”

Berenger did not care to look at all and turned away so that Ancel could cover himself in a towel. “Once you’re decent, I’d like you to join me in the living room. Please.”

“Whatever you say,” Ancel responded, breezing past him to fetch some skin cream that he had left on the bathroom counter.

While Ancel finished his beauty regimen, Berenger went back out to his living room to gather up as many of the purchases as his could, his alarm rising as he found more and more things scattered about.

There was a small mountain of purchases piled up within only a few moments.

When the storm of a redhead finally emerged it was in tight black leather pants that did not look at all casual or comfortable and a tank top studded in gold sequins. Berenger thought of a peacock strutting around glaring at the pigeons surrounding it and found that the imagery suited Ancel.

“You look…nice.”

“Pfft!” Ancel snorted in disbelief as he draped himself over the couch. “You really are just the worst at handling people. When we first met I thought you were either a virgin or the filthiest of men; who else would be so blunt as to ask to fuck five minutes into the conversation?” Berenger began counting Ancel’s freckles, “Tell me, was it part of your plan, were you ordered by your boss to buy a companion? Or am I just lucky?”

“Just lucky. I needed to be invisible and you seemed like the perfect wallflower to get by unnoticed.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“Where’s the money I left in your shoe?”

“Not important.”

“I’m sure Lazar can find out where you hid it.”

Ancel’s eyes narrowed; it seemed he too was not overtly fond of Lazar’s particular brand of madness. “I took it for services rendered. Silence fee. Payment for not stabbing you in the neck.”

“As I recall, you missed.”

“And you never got to slap me in the face with your dick.” Ancel smirked and Berenger finally rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Apparently it wasn’t enough for your shopping needs.” Berenger picked up something lacy and dark green between his thumb and index finger.

Ancel’s head jerked as he smiled sharp enough to split bone. “The fact that you aren’t trying harder to get it back proves how much more I need it than you do.” That was most likely true.

Berenger nodded softly, allowing Ancel a moment to calm down.

“If what you’ve told us about the Regency is true then I’m sure my employers will make it worth your while.”

“They had better.” Ancel murmured, clutching his slim shoulders. “I…won’t go back.”

Personally Berenger thought such spending habits were not conducive to avoiding a life of prostitution again, but surely it wouldn’t help their next necessary conversation so he left it unsaid.

“You went out?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot. These luxury places deliver in an hour. Ever heard of online shopping? I’d assume not.”

“Thank god for you. In any case, for now we are living in the apartment together until things blow over. We should establish some ground rules so that the two of us might not go insane.” Berenger offered. “And you’ll forgive me if they seem a bit unfair at times since it is my apartment and I pay rent.”

Ancel looked unimpressed but remained silent, an occurrence Berenger was beginning to count as precious.

“I know our people reminded you that at the moment going out on your own would be...risky so I understand you may be bored. But please,” he began numbering the sheet of paper in front of him, “try to tidy up after yourself.”

Staying inside and tidying up were written out in Berenger’s neat hand and Ancel’s twisted his lips into a pout.

“I was going to later,” Ancel shrugged. Berenger wasn’t sure whether he believed him or not.

“It looks suspicious and I would hope you’re not ransacking the place in search of weaponry which brings me to rule three,” he spoke quickly to prevent Ancel from offering defense, “No touching my weapons.”

“What if my handler finds me? What if I’m attacked?”

Berenger tossed him a pair of leather boots that would go up to the thigh and had a heel on them like a needle. “These look sharp enough. You’re an enterprising young man as I’ve found out the hard way.  Four would be not to spend all my money in a single afternoon on...on...” He didn’t even know what to call all the brand name curios Ancel had purchased so he simply waved his hand over what he had collected thus far. 

“Clothes?” There was color in Ancel’s cheeks and Berenger could feel this might end up being a point of contention between them, “You want me to walk around naked then? Wear your clothes?” He said it like Berenger had asked him to smear shit on himself; honestly he’d be the same color either way. “They’re too—“ he clearly bit back his true feelings as Berenger waited to hear what Ancel thought of his style, “short on me.”

He did have longer legs. Fair point.

“I was going to buy you some clothes until I got a message from my credit card company saying that my card was close to being maxed out.”

He glared in response, like a child being caught. “I—“

“You have expensive tastes.” Berenger looked at a receipt and winced at the four-figure amount. “You ordered this _all_ online?”

“You’ll find that most in my line of work do. The better you look, the more you’re worth.”

“You can’t keep all of it.” Berenger cautioned, uncomfortable with the topic.

“Most?”

“Some.”

“Goddamn it.” Ancel grumbled. “Why are you rich people all so fucking stingy?”

“I’m your guard and your housemate, not your sugar daddy. And I’m not—“ he paused before he could complete the lie he had tried to perfect, “that rich.”

“The fucking worst!” Ancel laughed. “You think you can hide this kind of thing from a pro? This apartment? Those clothes from last night? The home in the mountains? The fact that the card was ‘almost’ maxed? You’ve got money, no need to be shy. I’m sure,” his tone took on that edge of hunger hidden under honey that was the vocal version of him sliding his hand up Berenger’s thigh, “we could work something out.”

“I’m not interested.”

Ancel looked sour and somehow it looked better on him than flirtation did. “You’re too good to pay for sex? Fucking weirdo.”

“Yeah let’s go with that,” as far as accusations went, he would take it, “believe it or not there are people who would rather not.”

“I bet you’re into scat. Or pussy.” 

Or numbers. Berenger whispered the receipt number inside his mouth to keep calm. When he finished, that red demon was gazing at him expectantly as if hoping he would crack and confess his secret desires.

“Rule five,” Ancel groaned and threw himself face down on the couch, “discussions or speculations of sexual preferences are prohibited.”

“What will we even talk about then?”

“I amazed you’d deign to speak to a fucking weirdo.” Berenger looked over to see what Ancel would do with his words thrown back in his face. He did not even bat an eyelash.

“Joke’s on you, I don’t know what ‘deign’ means.”

Berenger didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “In any case...”

Ancel found a renewed bit of energy and sat up with fire in his gaze. “How many other banned topics of conversation are there? Can we talk about the fact that you kill people for a living? How the hell do you get into that line of work?”

“Rule six.” Berenger wrote it out, pleased for the reminder.

He didn’t give an explanation, despite Ancel’s grumbling, but the question did cause suspicion to rise bitter in his throat. He knew Laurent and Damen liked to see the best in people; he supposed it was a good thing that they had him watching carefully for signs of being double-crossed.

He did not mind escorts but enemy agents were another matter entirely.

Part of him would prefer to trust a prostitute with his bank accounts than a Regency pet with the secrets of Arles. He looked to Ancel’s petulant freckled face and tried to smile in a way that was reassuring.

“I’m sure if you follow these rules, we can live together without much strife.”

‘ _Though if you betray us_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _I’ll be the one to kill you_.’ He was responsible for bringing Ancel into their fold and he would cut him out of it if need be. He owed that much to Laurent and Auguste.

“And I should just do fuck all in the meantime?”

“If there’s anything you want to add to the list that you find important…”

Ancel had Berenger add one extra rule for himself: ‘Rule Seven: Berenger must remove the stick from his ass when he comes home’.


	5. Berenger Takes a Half Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to update! I mean what the hell, it's a holiday and with all this good new Capri content out, I really just wanted to give you guys the next installment!  
> For all those expecting a hardcore assassin AU, I hope you're not too disappointed at the sitcom this has turned into but I can't help it! I love annoying the hell out of Berenger. He is so unequipped to deal with Ancel's madness ;)  
> And their hobbies are just too different. Pray for this man and have a good holiday (if you celebrate)! Enjoy ;)

**Berenger Takes a Half Day**

“Lazar tells me you have quite the STD on your hands.” Came the most unwelcome greeting alongside the knock at his door.

Berenger pulled up Lazar’s payroll account and scanned the numbers there. “Guess who’s not getting paid this month. I just had a problem on a job that…followed me home, so to speak. I’m going to start telling people Lazar is impotent.”

“You two should just kiss and get rid of all that unresolved sexual tension.”

“Thank you, I’d rather die. You can come in Jord.”

Jord was their tech guy and had been in charge of weaponry before Damianos brought in some of his men with more experience. Berenger liked him for his level head and sensible wardrobe. He collapsed into the chair opposite Berenger, perpetually exhausted by ridiculous demands. The lush dark hair at his temples had some gray in it already from the stress of some of his coworkers.

“What have you brought me today?”

“Nothing terribly exciting.” Jord admitted, “Though your roommate might find it more to his tastes.” Berenger carefully extinguished the hope of improved weaponry, not allowing Jord to see any of his disappointment.

Jord placed a simple white box on the table, pulling up the lid to reveal a glossy black phone inside.

“You made this?” Berenger joked.

“Never heard that one before. I installed a GPS and a keytracer. If he disappears on you or is talking to someone we don’t know then Lazar and I will know. I do similar shit for all our double agents. And our undercovers, just in case they get any ideas about changing sides,” Jord twisted his lips, perhaps realizing he had said too much, a bad habit of his when he was comfortable with someone, “so keep that bit on the down low, would you?”

Berenger often wondered about their undercover agents and if many had a track record of going rogue; with Auguste and Laurent being some of the coldest bastards he had ever met and Damen merely existing near anyone causing Laurent problems, Berenger didn’t know who would be so foolish to betray them.

The thought occurred to him. “Do you have these tracers on my phone?”

Jord looked at him with an odd mix of fondness and something kinder than pity. “When was the last time you texted someone for conversation?”

“Fair point.”

“What’s he like?” Jord asked, unable to contain his curiosity. Surely the word was going around the higher ranks of Arles and Ios that Berenger was entertaining a top-tier escort in his apartment. He had a distinct feeling that the general assessment would be that Ancel’s company was wasted on him.

Berenger gave the most accurate, objective assessment he could.

His roommate, thus far, was impatient, avaricious, messy, and slightly vain. Still Berenger was slightly fascinated by Ancel’s reactions to his sensible requests. For example, when he asked the young man which clothes he would be returning to the luxury stores.

Ancel had spent hours deciding what items in the massive wardrobe he could bear to return and he looked truly sad when his trove dwindled down to one-fourth of its’ original size. Despite his best efforts, Berenger felt a little guilty and was pleased to see that Ancel’s mood improved by the phone.

“This is the latest model?” He asked, removing the delicate, glossy rectangle from its’ box.

“I…wouldn't know.” Berenger said. “It looks new.”

“Oh, it’s…” Ancel turned it on, his eyes lighting up with the screen, “ _beautiful_.”

He really did love expensive material goods. “Ummm…yes, I suppose it is.” At least he was so taken by the shiny bauble that he did not even pause to wonder if the device had been compromised. “We’ve put some emergency contacts in and a panic button for—.”

“I’ll need a case for it. Does it have voice-to-text?”

“I…wouldn’t know.”

Ancel looked at him in disbelief. “This is _important_!”

He quickly discovered that Berenger was no help at all. Being good with numbers did not necessarily equate to being good with technology and it took the both of them a couple of tries to find out that pressing and holding the home button brought up a lovely blue line that held onto Ancel’s every word.

Berenger had already entered in his cell phone number, in case of emergencies, and also recommended some other numbers while Ancel seemed to be steadfastly ignoring him in favor of speaking into his phone.

“Text Berenger.” He ordered.

“There is no one named ‘Derek’ in your contacts.” The phone was polite as it butchered Berenger’s name and Ancel laughed.

“Text _Berenger_.”

“There is no one named ‘Ranger’ in your contacts.”

Ancel was laughing harder and Berenger felt as though this activity could continue unchecked for hours if he didn’t put an end to it.

“Ok, ok. My name is difficult and unusual.”

“Thank you.” Ancel said clutching the phone to his chest. He did look truly delighted. “I love it.”

Berenger felt a bit of fondness for the young man then. At least he was openly thankful for gifts and Berenger wondered if he would be as excited if he knew that the phone was bugged. “It’s nothing. Something to keep you safe.”

Maybe they would finally be able to move into a peaceful balance while living together.

 

When Berenger woke up the next morning for work, Ancel was still fast asleep in the spare bedroom; judging by his sleeping habits thus far, he would not be awake before noon. Berenger could expect half a workday free from concern over what havoc the young man might wreak in his absence.

He hoped that the appearance of the smart phone would keep him occupied until Berenger got home.

The first text came at half past one: ‘Berry, I’m bored.’

Berenger pinched the bridge of his nose, already annoyed by the appearance of this new nickname. He was moving to respond when the second text came in with an insistent buzz.

‘Do you not have any movies or video games or a laptop I can use? I’m so bored, I’m losing my mind in this apartment.’ Only his third day in and he was already bored? It was almost impressive.

Berenger tried not to let his irritation show through in writing as his attention was called away from his numbers.

‘I don’t own any films, but I’m sure you can order them or stream them on the desktop computer. I don’t exactly play video games either.’ He couldn’t exactly see Ancel having the patience to deal with video games. As far as entertainment… ‘I have some Sudoku puzzles on the coffee table. And my name is Berenger.’

He hoped that this would solve the problems for the next four hours at the very least.

No such luck.

His phone buzzed as he set it down on his desk. And it kept buzzing, rattling the pens next to it as Berenger watched. He had not entertained the notion that Ancel would try calling him and found he did not like the idea of his attention being taken up by complaints when he was meant to be doing payroll.

But still…

What if he was like a small dog or a vengeful little bird that would tear an apartment to shreds in the absence of stimulus? Berenger was considering all the horrible possibilities of ignoring the call when the phone stilled and fell silent.

The peace lasted until Berenger had felt sure enough of Ancel’s defeat that he reached down to pick up his ink pen. As if Ancel had felt his guard drop, the phone buzzed again with a call and Berenger picked it up before the noise could start again.

“Berenger. What do you want?”

“I’m bored.” Ancel’s careful moan elongated the o in a way that was somewhere between sexy and whiny. Clearly he had not noticed the brusque, informal way Berenger had answered, a thing he only did when deeply annoyed.

That or he just did not care.

“Well first off, my name is not ‘Berry’—.”

“Berry?” Ancel burst out laughing through the receiver. “Must have been autocorrect. This voice to text is hilarious.” That would explain some of the more grievous spelling errors in his text messages.

“Second, you should only call me for emergencies.”

“This _is_ an emergency!” Ancel complained and Berenger heard the telltale creak of a body being thrown onto a bed. “I’m bored out of my mind here!”

Berenger sighed, sinking into a problem that, frustratingly, did not include numbers. “Why don’t you just text me?”

Ancel was quiet for a long moment. “This is faster. Have you forgotten my only rule for us living together? What in the name of fuck do you do for fun? Knit brown sweaters? Collect stamps? Jerk off to university math lectures?”

Berenger shook his head in disbelief. It was like dealing with a second, more persistent Lazar.

“I have an impressive collection of books, if you like to read.” There was another long silence and Berenger wondered if Ancel had never cultivated an interest for reading during his life of flirtation and buying expensive clothes. “I have an erm…chess set in my cl—.”

“Do you have any sex toys I can borrow?”

“E-excuse me?” Berenger sputtered wondering how their tastes in private activities could be so different.

“Sex toys. You know, anal beads, dildos, vibrators? I’d settle for an egg even. Or some half decent lube.”

Berenger was not in his element. He had no idea what the fuck an egg even was and the only thing that could come to mind was Ancel pushing hardboiled eggs into his asshole. He wrote a reminder to buy new eggs on his way home, just in case.

“I don’t—this is in violation of rule five.”

“I’m not asking specifics!” Ancel protested. “Just tell me where your stash is, I’ll scrub it with dish detergent when I’m done, and we’re both happy.”

“How am I happy in this scenario?”

“I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing. Killing people or whatever.”

“Payroll.”

“Whatever. Sex toys, yes or no?”

“Of course not!”

“You’re the _worst_!” There was a soft thump and suddenly Ancel’s voice sounded much farther away; he had probably thrown the phone into his pillows. “When will that direct deposit from that blond bitch and the big boy hit? I just want a laptop or something!”

Berenger was still amazed that it was only the second day in. If this continued, then he might have to plead his case to Laurent and Auguste for someone else—most likely Lazar—to share joint custody of this absolute menace.

“Did you break my desktop computer?”

“No…” Ancel tried to sound miserable.

“Then why on earth do you nee—want a laptop?”

“Yours doesn’t have a microphone!”

That gave him pause.

His sensor for inconsistencies was always on high alert when working with concrete numbers and this reason seemed a little suspicious to him. His mind, caught up in the tangle of a puzzle, began racing through questions.

_Why a microphone? Was he planning to record something? Diaries? Observations? Was he going to be sending the messages to someone? Was he planning to upload something online? Was he still working as an escort by video or voice? Was he still working for the Regency?_

Berenger was suddenly relieved his desktop computer had no camera or microphone.

If he did, there was no telling what had been released into the hands of the Regency or whoever had offered him a big enough lump sum of money. When Ancel bought a laptop Berenger was going to have Jord bug the shit out of it.

In his time lost thinking, Berenger had left Ancel to his own devices for too long. He was rustling around on the other end of the line and his clear, demanding voice cut through Berenger’s train of thought.

“Do you have any matches?”

The thoughts of hollowed out, charred apartments in twisted black lines flashed in Berenger’s mind as he recalled Lazar’s revelation: Ancel had a penchant for arson. Berenger leapt to his feet, his hip bumping painfully against the hard wood edge of his desk. Pens and papers scattered to floor as Berenger nearly fell over.

“ _No_!” He ordered through ripples of pain. “No, no! No matches!”

“No matches? Not with—oh! Maybe you have a lighter then?”

“Ancel, no, no fire!” Berenger was practically yelling by his standards, his body running cold with horror.

“Never mind, Berry, I found a lighter for it. I’ll call you back soon.”

“God damn it, _no_!”

Of course, it was becoming apparent that Ancel could not be relied on to honor Berenger’s wishes or really even listen to him in general. The cool monotony of the dial tone made that abundantly clear.

The numbers in his ledger were put aside for the moment. He hastily shoved the book inside his travel case along with a few pens and any papers that looked important. His phone was pushed into his back pocket and he was off running with the urgency of a man whose mind was caught up in a hot swirl of yellows, oranges, and reds.

Berenger ran to find Laurent, wanting at least to cut out with permission.

Laurent’s office was at the end of the hallway, the largest one and the one with the most privacy, simply because he and Damen were said to have difficulty keeping their clothes on when they were alone for more than a moment. Berenger gave them a single courtesy knock before shouldering the door and spilling inside.

Laurent was sitting on his desk, looking remarkably unruffled despite the disturbance. His legs were spread slightly and Damen’s head was rested on his lap. Or…at least that was what Berenger tried to convince himself was going on.

“Berenger.”

“Laurent! I must go home early today. I apologize but…an _issue_ has arisen with my roommate.”

“Is everything alright?” Laurent made no move to stand, instead smoothing some of Damianos’ curls with his hand. “You look like hell.”

“I have to go!” Berenger insisted, uncaring of the scene that would usually have him turning around to leave immediately. “I’ll finish payroll remotely.” He knew, through the images of fire and smoke, that he had enough personal days accumulated to justify a half day off. There were benefits to having no life.

“Go on then.”

Without so much as an apology or a courtesy farewell, Berenger turned away from whatever Laurent and Damen were doing, slammed the door behind him, and sprinted all the way into the back of the first waiting cab outside the bar.

The cab driver nearly tore the pavement out of the road in his haste to get back to Berenger’s apartment. Berenger—who always took the stairs out of habit—sprinted up all eleven flights until he was wheezing outside his door, approximately seventeen minutes after Ancel had hung up on him.

There was no smoke coming out from underneath the doorframe.

As Berenger spilled inside, tossing his briefcase to the floor, he was hit with a wave of vanilla scent and the booming baseline of some very suggestive music. A quick scan of the apartment found it in varying stages of disarray: half-eaten plates of food on the table and counters, cabinets and drawers pulled open, several button down shirts draped across the back of his couch, and both down comforters piled on the floor of the living room.

Ancel was dancing on the cushions of the sofa with surprising skill, though Berenger was no dance expert.

He was wearing one of Berenger’s gray button-down shirts and a paler gray thong, his hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that swayed and flowed with the movement of his hips and legs. Berenger remembered that Lazar had found Ancel was once a dancer and a gymnast.

The flame lit on Berenger’s vanilla candle—the one that had not been lit before this afternoon and usually sat at the center of his dining table—was moving along with Ancel as he danced around it, the lighter tossed carelessly on his coffee table.

All the fear and fury and fire were extinguished in one moment, as if Ancel had spun and the wind from his hair blew out the fuse. Berenger felt like suddenly someone had yanked all the bones out of his body and he crumpled to the floor immediately, leaving the relief and adrenaline to fight for control over his heart rate.

The back of his head rested against the smooth wooden floor and he imagined the Fibonacci sequence set about in a spiral on his white ceiling.

Ancel must have noticed his arrival. “Berry! You’re back so early.” It appeared the nickname had caught and Berenger was already resigning himself to hear more of it in the coming days.

It had only been three days.

Three fucking days.

 


	6. Berenger Purchases Sex Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done a grand total of 5 updates in a single week so this may be a new record for me! Haha!  
> Of course I saved the best for last with poor Berenger having to deal with Ancel's nonsense yet again. At least the two of them get to go on a little trip together and Ancel shows off his great ability to spend other people's money.  
> Thanks everyone for dropping by for a read with all this new content out! You guys are the best ;)

**Berenger Purchases Sex Toys**

On Ancel’s sixth day in his apartment, Berenger got a text from Laurent only thirty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. The message instructed him to stay home that day and get in Ancel’s good graces in the teasing but forceful way only Laurent could pull off.

‘Maybe go out and get some fresh air. Gods know the Regency is going to be fucking busy this afternoon.” So the first major raid had been the previous night. The Regency would be assessing their damage, fortifying their defenses, too busy to look for the bright red leak that had up and betrayed them as easy as breathing. ‘And I’ll want to talk to your roommate again soon.”

Berenger collapsed back into his pillows, pleased for the break but wondering what in the hell he was going to do with their wild card.

In any case, he would have plenty of time to think about what to do during the day, as Ancel stayed up to ungodly hours and would still be fast asleep.

He got up for his morning cup of coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast and considered what he and Ancel would do with their day. He avoided looking at the mess in his living room that had yet to be cleaned.

There was no way in hell that they were staying in.

The sight of the speakers gave him the idea. He moved his breakfast over to his desktop monitor and began researching.

By the time Ancel woke up around 1 P.M. Berenger had established a plan for how they would spend what was left of the afternoon. Ancel stumbled out of the bedroom with a brushfire of hair around his head and a white sleeping shirt that was so thin Berenger could see the lines of his body and the bright red tuft of hair between his legs. He also looked like he was still half asleep.

“Would you like to go out around 3?” He asked as Ancel poured himself a cup of coffee and dumped in equal parts sugar and milk.

Ancel waited to answer until after the first sip and the caffeine kicked in. Berenger winced as Ancel turned quickly and a stripe of pale coffee spilled across his marble counters. “We’re going out?”

“Yes, so to speak.” Berenger could not help himself and got up to sop up the spilled coffee. Surely Ancel would just let it sit. “You say you’re bored so we should get things to keep you busy,” and away from my cell phone inbox, he thought, “and we do need to get you some proper clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Ancel smirked and crossed his legs so that his shirt rose higher on his legs.

Berenger gently took hold of Ancel’s shoulders and shifted him so that he could pass by. “There are not enough of them.”

“You’re really not tempted?”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Berenger was deadpan as he passed by and Ancel made a noise of annoyance. He remembered Laurent and Damen cautioning how the Regency trained their pets to try and seduce at every possible turn.

“Gods, you’re really no fun at all.”

Still, he made no further passes at Berenger and took his coffee back to the guest bedroom so he could wake up as he selected his outfit for the day out.

Berenger waited patiently as he heard the shower running and club music blasting through the walls and then the sound of a hairdryer.

When Ancel emerged again—glowing, clean, and awake—Berenger stopped whatever he had been doing at that moment. What exactly had been forgotten at the mere sight of Ancel.

“ _No_.”

“What?” Ancel looked down at himself. Looked down at what were obviously the most expensive clothes he still kept: the peacock blue leggings that seemed painted on to his legs, at the shirt covered in gold sequins, and heeled black ankle boots with gold embroidery. He looked ready for nightlife and not an afternoon of shopping at a respectable department store.

“No.” Berenger shook his head. “You cannot wear that out.”

“Why not?”

“Are you trying to get noticed? Have you conveniently forgotten that you are trying to keep a low profile?” Or was he _trying_ to be noticed…good luck with that. Laurent, Auguste, and Damen’s faction were keeping the Regency very busy.

“Oh…”

“Damn right. You’re going to have to wear something else. You can borrow some of my things if you need.”

Pouting, Ancel disappeared back into his bedroom to change. When he reemerged the leggings were still on but he had gotten one of Berenger’s ratty old black T-shirts and the black sneakers Berenger had allowed him to keep. His hair was a bright red beacon in comparison to the simplicity of his outfit and Berenger kept having his eyes drawn to that wild color.

“Better?”

“Your hair,” Berenger began with the part of him that would attract the most attention after his face, “it’s…”

“Long? Fiery? Silky? Gorgeous?” Ancel shook his tresses and Berenger did indeed see that whatever compliments his former clients had paid were not out of politeness. His hair really was something but that was not helpful for keeping a low profile.

“Wild. It would be better if it was short…”

Ancel looked at him in horror and tossed his hair behind him, protecting it from Berenger. “Absolutely not! I’ve spent _years_ growing my hair, it’s my biggest draw!” Personally Berenger thought his aggressive pitch was probably his biggest draw but he did not want to break rule five.

“I’m not going to cut it. I was thinking a hat?”

Though Ancel seemed much more open to a hat than to a sturdy pair of scissors, he still twisted his lips in distaste as Berenger offered him a faded black baseball cap with some logo embroidered on the front. He had won it at a raffle during his university days, which somehow made Ancel’s expression even darker.

He sniffed the inner curve of the cap before looking up at Berenger. “Has this cap ever been washed?”

Berenger was offended. “Of course. And more importantly, it will hide your hair.”

Ancel grumbled under his breath but the promise of going outside must have been too precious to pass up. In a smooth motion, Ancel tied up his long hair into a messy red bun and the whole mass was hidden beneath the dome of the cap.

Berenger surveyed his handiwork and found that, save the shapely legs in the dark leggings, Ancel could pass as any average person at the local department store. Berenger had the feeling from Ancel’s peevish expression that he did not like passing through life unnoticed.

As a final touch, Berenger made sure Ancel was watching as he tucked his taser into his breast pocket.

“You really don’t fucking trust me.”

Berenger smiled at him. “I’m going to keep you safe if you get recognized. But yes, if you try to run away from me, you’re going to get a couple of these barbs in your back. Don’t worry,” he patted Ancel’s slim shoulder as he passed and took in the disarray of his living room, “it won’t hurt too badly.”

 

The taxi took them to the edge of the shopping district, where the expense of the stores dropped to the point where Berenger was reasonably sure no one from the Regency would bother looking for marks on a slow day. Ancel, naturally, did not look impressed from underneath his cap.

“Really?” He hissed from between clenched teeth as Berenger placed a hand lightly on his blue hip, pretending that they were friends or lovers or the like to deflect attention. “You’re taking me to the fucking boondocks for shopping? Don’t touch me, dammit.”

Berenger allowed his hand to hover over Ancel’s hip. “No one at the Regency will think to have people here. These are thoroughly middle class places. The people are not desperate but they also don’t have the money or power to interest the Regency. We’ll be relatively safe here.” He took care not to mention the raids; as Ancel had said, he really didn’t fucking trust the man.

“Says you.” Like a child.

Clothes shopping invariably came first, as Berenger had noticed Ancel was running out of clean clothes to wear. He had simply taken to strutting around in his underwear without an ounce of self-consciousness. Berenger could not help but wonder if it was an attempt to seduce him whenever Ancel flaunted his tiny briefs and his ridiculously pink nipples.

Despite the fact that the boutique was not brand name, Ancel was still so delighted by the sight of the racks of new clothes that Berenger immediately set limits or they would surely be there until well past nightfall.

“Five shirts, two pairs of pants, two jackets, underwear, socks, two pairs of pajamas. That’s what you get.”

Ancel looked horrified over the spartan requirements. “You—!”

“If you don’t hustle, I’m going to choose them for you.” Berenger said, spotting a pair of olive green slacks that would not clash with Ancel’s outrageous coloring. Ancel paled before walking quickly through the aisles, some red strands slipping out from underneath his cap.

Even with the most rigid of guidelines, Ancel pushed Berenger as far as he could.

In moments he had returned with two armfuls of items and he tugged Berenger into the dressing rooms.

“Why am I here?” Berenger protested as Ancel shoved him down onto one of the chairs outside the room.

“Who is going to give me a second opinion?”

“Just pick some clothes and we can go!”

“My previous sugar daddies never complained!” Ancel shouted at full volume, gaining the attention of everyone within a hundred feet. Berenger was sure he was as red as Ancel’s hair.

“I’m not—it’s not what you think.” He said to no one in particular, though the men closest to him raised their eyebrows as if they did not believe him. “Oh goddamnit.”

It was almost impressive how Ancel could find such minute differences in pairs of pants. He came out in at least eight pairs of dark wash jeans that looked about exactly the same, although he insisted somehow the cuts made his is legs look shorter or his ass look flat.

“Just pick a pair!” Berenger begged after Ancel looked fully prepared to try on every pair again for a second opinion.

“These cheap ass jeans, I’ve got to find a semi-decent fit to look okay!”

“Who cares? No one is going to see you except me.”

“ _I_ care.”

Berenger rubbed his temple with his thumbs, silently resigning himself to a long and arduous process. When Ancel emerged with his next outfit, Berenger found the perfect words to satiate Ancel and hurry the process along:

“You look nice.”

He caught swirls of color—coral, dark green, teal, fuchsia, dark blue, mint—but simply counted prime numbers until Ancel had somehow made his choices. The choice had obviously been wracking as Ancel looked as miserable as Berenger felt when they gave the clothes back that would not be going back to the apartment with them.

Berenger was exhausted after only purchasing clothes but he followed Ancel into a seemingly endless parade of stores, making sure that no one was stalking them, and vetoing some of Ancel’s wilder requests for entertainment.

The feeling of his silent phone weighed heavy and hot, like a chunk of coal in his back pocket, reminding him of what was at stake if Ancel was not adequately entertained. Quiet, blissful peace and quiet.

Uncountable—though he tried—were the things Ancel allowed his fingers to dance across. He liked to sense things through touch, to feel the quality, drawn by bright colors and shimmering lights.

To amuse himself, Berenger began to guess what would draw Ancel’s eye next.

By the time they had gone through several stores and entered a curios shop that smelled of sandalwood and sold all manner of eclectic things, Berenger was good for a right answer nine times out of ten. All he had to do was imagine Ancel as a magpie and go from there.

His guess was right as Ancel paused over the facets of a false emerald.

“Did you know,” Ancel jumped and nearly shouted as Berenger moved closer to him and spoke, “that emeralds are so rare that they are often worth more per carat than diamonds?” Ancel’s glare matched the stone, “Not these ones though. I do believe they’re paste jewels.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“Payback for stealing my candle.”

Ancel rolled his eyes and went back to the item under his fingertips. “What is this even? A jewelry box?”

Berenger looked at the box and the ones behind it. They were about the size of a brick, made of pretty sturdy dark wood, and the lid of the box was covered in tiny square panels that could slide back and forth or right and left, save one empty spot. Five panels had paste gems on them that could be pushed down into locks that Berenger imagined would be at each of the four corners and in the center. He tried to pry the lid open with his fingernails but it stayed shut, confirming his suspicions.

“It’s a puzzle box.” He said, smiling as he shifted the squares in an attempt to slide a jeweled piece into the corners. Shaking the box gently, he heard a rattle of something inside. “You have to move the squares see? To slide the gems into place. And when they’re in place, you can open it to find the prize inside. I wanted one like this so badly when I was a boy.”

Even when he was young he had loved puzzles and logic and math. Though…

The puzzle box he had wanted had been octagonal, the size of a child’s desk, with two hundred honeycomb shaped pieces that somehow fitted together to make an image of a stag in mother-of-pearl.

Berenger still remembered the silky polish of the cherry wood beneath his hands.

“Did you get it?”

“Excuse me?” The silkiness was gone, replaced by the sharper edges of the box in his hands.

Ancel was staring at him. “The puzzle box. Did somebody buy it for you?”

Berenger tasted bitterness as he remembered what had been lying beneath the colored paper of his name day gift that year. His thumb ran over the plastic jewel as he counted its’ facets. “No.”

Ancel looked back down at the boxes. “I want one then.” Berenger must have looked very perplexed because Ancel blushed. “ _What_? You think escorts can’t solve puzzles? Yeah, I never graduated high school, but I doubt I’d need that to slide some squares around.” Berenger was so surprised that Ancel could possibly enjoy a puzzle that he handed over the box unthinkingly.

Ancel was quick and snatched the box before Berenger could change his mind. His thumbs slid the wooden squares hither and thither with no real strategy and Berenger felt the bitterness pass.

“I’ll not buy you another one if you smash it in frustration.”

Ancel did not even bother to look up. “The thing I want more than the box is to see what’s inside.”

The puzzle box was all they purchased from that store, as Ancel was too focused on moving the pieces around to look at anything else. He had one of the gems in place as Berenger paid cash and even refused a bag so that he could continue in his pursuit.

Secretly, Berenger hoped that it would be the end of their day and he could go home to relax with a book. With his progress at the moment, Berenger was reasonably sure his red-headed fiend of a roommate would be busy with his puzzle box for the next month at least.

But things with Ancel could never go so smoothly.

They were walking outside, Berenger slowly corralling Ancel towards the closest taxi line, when something was bright enough to call Ancel’s attention from the box.

He stopped short and, like a boat tied to an anchor, Berenger did too. “Berry, I want to go in there before we leave.”

Of course it had to be a sex shop.

Berenger blanched as he saw garish neon lights in orchid and lemon and a line of silicone cocks in peach, matte black, and red dangling from clear strings, like the world’s strangest lures. It seemed to work on Ancel; the wild thing was already halfway to the door with eyes wide in hope.

“ _No_ …”

“We’re not in the apartment. Sex is on-limits again.”

“That’s not a thing. Also by the same parameters, I still have the stick wedged firmly in my ass.”

Ancel yanked Berenger’s arm nearly out of its’ socket. “I don’t know what ‘parameters’ are and besides Berry, we can always replace that stick with a brown dildo to match basically everything else you own. I’m sure they have them here.”

“I’ll tase you.”

“I’ll pretend it arouses me.” Ancel blazed with determination and Berenger thought of how much unwanted attention a tasing would bring to the two of them. It really would be something if Ancel were to blow his cover over a glittery set of anal beads, in which case Berenger would be willing to admit he was fathoms out of his league with this rogue agent.

Berenger counted Ancel’s freckles simply because he could not bring himself to count the plastic cocks in the windowsill. He had reached sixty-seven freckles before he found the adequate words. “I’m not going in that store.”

Ancel did not budge.

 

When they returned Berenger’s apartment, Berenger dumped their purchases on his dining table and cringed at the mess it only expounded on.

He had purchased things that could keep Ancel distracted for a few weeks at least and cause minimal messes.

Several adult coloring books, boxed sets of television series Ancel had expressed interest in, several bottles of nail polish, a used video game console and some of the brightest games available, a yoga mat, and the handful of sex toys that Ancel had absolutely insisted on despite Berenger attempting to rush him through the store. Even now Berenger flushed as he saw the shimmer of the glassy lavender dildo, the matching vibrator, and the two-liter bottle of clear lubricant.

He had saved all of the receipts for reimbursement from Laurent and Auguste, wondering how many times company funds had been used to purchase things in a sex shop.

Ancel did not seem to have the same qualms, his fingers still searching the surface of the wooden puzzle box, his brow furrowed in concentration. For some reason, Berenger found it endearing because he could understand the delight and intensity of a good puzzle.

He almost felt guilty for interrupting but his phone buzzed insistently and he saw Laurent’s name emblazoned across the screen. “Ancel, my boss wants to meet with you in a week. Will you have free time?”

Ancel looked up from his puzzle with disgust saturating his features. “Let me check my schedule.”

“You’ll get paid after this.” That cleared his expression and Berenger watched his pale fingers continue to slip the panels around on the top of the box. “Just make sure you don’t go too wild on the online shopping.”

“Please. I’m going to buy some proper underwear. Not those grandpa briefs you forced on me. I want lace and silk and nylon.”

“What’s wrong with being comfortable?”

“Good underwear should be as beautiful and complex as the wearer.”

“I should hate to take twenty minutes to remove my underwear simply to use the restroom.”

“Think of it like a puzzle,” Ancel spoke as if Berenger was an idiot, “it’s complicated to figure out but it’s _so_ worth it when you finally figure it out.” There was a soft click of the wooden slats and the plastic emeralds slid into their places, allowing Ancel to slide the lid off the puzzle box. “Oh fuck!”

Berenger smiled in spite of himself. There was another, smaller box inside the first one.

“Figure it out?”

Ancel paused his hands only to flip Berenger off.

 

When Berenger woke up the next morning and went to make his first cup of coffee, Ancel was unsurprisingly still asleep, his bedroom door closed. The apartment was still clean, though gods only knew how long it would last.

The only thing that had changed was the object that had been placed in the center of the table, replacing the candle Ancel had moved to the living room coffee table.

Berenger tilted his head in disbelief as he gently pulled open the parts of the puzzle box to reveal a series of smaller puzzle boxes inside. In the smallest box was the prize for victory: a cluster of six plastic toy jewels that shimmered under the kitchen lights. Berenger pushed them with his finger and felt the victory of their hollow clacking against the wooden walls.

So his roommate had some sense and logic after all.

 


	7. Berenger is Immediately Shut Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting some things up in this chapter so I hope they make sense later on! And once again Berry is completely useless at reading the little signs that Ancel gives him... I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> In other news, I got drunk for the first time last night and I'm a bit behind on my writing! Hopefully I can catch up over the Christmas break that's coming up soon! Haha! Also with all the madness going on over at Tumblr, I've decided to make a Twitter just in case everything goes tits up there. I'll be posting updates and little things on both platforms, so go follow me ;)  
> Here's the link to my Twitter [@SteeleStingray](https://twitter.com/steelestingray)

**Berenger is Immediately Shut Down**

One week after their shopping trip, Berenger woke Ancel at the crack of eleven so that he could be taken to their remote interrogation facility about half an hour outside the city. He had hoped that it would provide ample time for the two of them to get ready but, once again, he had underestimated Ancel’s ability to frustrate his plans.

“It has been two hours.” Berenger said as he rapped his knuckles irritably against the door to his spare bathroom.

“I’m not ready!” Ancel responded and then cursed as some of his things tumbled into the sink.

They were going to be late if they waited much longer. Berenger weighed his options and found that his respect for Laurent’s time was winning out over his love of his door handles. Five more minutes and he would kick the door in. He began to count the seconds just to keep himself in check. “What in god’s name are you even doing? Are you sewing yourself a new outfit out of the shower curtains?”

“I’m putting on ma—you wouldn’t even fucking understand!”

Berenger was at forty-seven seconds when Ancel spilled out of the bathroom in a cloud of clashing cosmetic scents.

He was wearing his clinging blue leggings again and for some reason his eyes looked wider, his eyelashes looked longer. “Did you put on makeup?”

Ancel flushed pink for a split second at being caught. “We’re meeting your boss again right? I have to look good.”

“Ahhh.” Berenger understood.

Laurent would probably laugh that he was unknowingly in a beauty competition with one of their snitches. It would be a close call. Even when Laurent wasn’t trying, he could suck the air from the room. Even so, Berenger had his response prepared.

“You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Ancel said absently and scowled as a baseball cap was slapped on top of his head. Berenger shrugged; it couldn’t be helped with hair like red wine.

There was a car from Arles waiting for them in front of the building, the windows tinted and the partition up between the front seat and back seats. Ancel seemed thrilled at the luxury of the car—the leather interior, the privacy of the partition and the dark windows—until Berenger offered up a length of dark cloth that had been left on the seat for them.

“This is…a safehouse.” Berenger explained, bracing himself for the inevitable sour mood. “You can’t know where it is or how to get there.”

As expected, Ancel glared at the cloth and then at Berenger before recovering himself. His smile was a little too sweet. “Berry, you’re so kinky!” Berenger rolled his eyes and held out the cloth. “You’re not going to tie it on me yourself? Sneak a kiss? We’re outside the apartment after all…”

“No, thank you.” Berenger said, taking Ancel’s hand and placing the cloth in it.

Ancel looked down at the cloth as if deciding whether or not he would be cooperative and put on the damn blindfold or have Berenger wrestle him to the floor and tie it on by force; Berenger wondered if the second option was more appealing to the wide wicked streak in Ancel. “Someday I’m going to figure out what gets you hot and bothered.”

Berenger felt that twinge of distrust prickling in the back of his mind as Ancel tied the cloth over his eyes.

 _Ancel was looking for weakness. He was trying to find an opening. If given the chance, he would remove the blindfold and_ —

Berenger counted Ancel’s freckles to keep an eye on him, the redhead clearly falling asleep after Berenger had only gotten to one hundred and fifteen. It would take an hour at least to find and count every freckle in any case.

The interrogation safehouse was twenty minutes outside the city center in a building that looked like it would have a small club inside. Berenger had only been once before and was relieved to see two of their guards outside the safehouse.

Ancel jolted as the car stopped, disoriented from sleep and the blindfold. “Au—Berry? Berry?”

Berenger patted his shoulder, making sure he did not think he had been abandoned. “We’re here. It’s alright. I’ll help you out of the car in a moment.”

Berenger was almost hit by a bike messenger, the back tire running over his foot as he exited without looking, and his pinkie toe throbbed as he helped Ancel out of the car.

One of the guards whistled when Ancel was out of the car. “Damn, you’re all legs.” Typical Veretian, always free with flirtations.

Only Berenger, guiding Ancel with one hand, felt a shiver ripple down his skin. “He’ll burn your house down.” He cautioned. And more terrifying, Laurent would chew them out.

Only when they were inside were the hat and blindfold removed, Ancel shaking out his hair. “Thanks.”

“Borrow it any time you like,” Berenger said, taking the hat back and Ancel gave him a look of baffled disbelief.

They parted halfway down the single corridor; Berenger swung a left to where he knew the observation room would be and Ancel was escorted into the interrogation room, keeping his expression smooth as Laurent invited him to sit down in the nearly bare room. Normally their lead interrogator, Vannes, would be in charge of picking Ancel apart but Laurent and Auguste still wanted Ancel to see as few people as possible.

Berenger entered the secret back room, watching the proceedings through the one-way glass and was surprised to see the audience that had gathered to see his exotic roommate. Berenger assumed it was due to the fact that the word had gotten around about Ancel and people’s curiosity came more from Ancel’s looks and personality, rather than his profession.

Lazar was there to take notes, a bowl of noodles perched precariously on his laptop, Jord having a staring contest with Dord—his namesake. Auguste was standing with Damen and his second-in-command, Nikanndros. Vannes was there as well watching, alongside Huet, their head mechanic. As usual, it was somewhat of a madhouse.

“Goddamn it Lazar, are you pouring _yogurt_ on those cup noodles?”

“It’s spicy.” Lazar said through a mouthful of noodles.

Jord made a face of disgust and Berenger rolled his eyes at his unprofessionalism in front of the Akielons. But Damen was used to his eccentricities and stayed focused on what was going on behind the one-way glass.

As Laurent began speaking, most of the people watching put in the earbuds that allowed them to hear the conversation in the room. With Lazar present, Laurent and Auguste had learned very early on to soundproof the interrogation rooms.

“Hello again, Ancel.” Laurent said.

“Hello again…you.” Auguste snorted as Ancel did not know how to address Laurent and Laurent’s mouth quirked up. “No bodyguard today? That Lazar guy isn’t going to be here?”

“How have you been, Red?”

Laurent and Ancel jumped as Lazar made use of the PA system. Jord nearly fell from his chair before he could recover and wrestle the microphone from Lazar’s hands while Auguste and Vannes laughed. Berenger felt irritation and the words came out at the same time Ancel yelled.

“Don’t call him ‘Red’.”

“Don’t call me ‘Red’!”

“Gods strike Lazar.” Laurent sighed, recovering himself. “Shall we begin?”

Wanting to keep himself ignorant of anything new in the stings they were going to carry out against the Regency, Berenger removed his earbud and wandered over to Auguste and Damianos and Nikandros.

“Berenger!” Auguste smiled at him. “You look—.”

“Tired?”

“I was going to say ‘good’, but we can go with tired.”

“Did his information from last time pan out?” Berenger asked watching as Ancel began to talk. Lazar was shaking with laughter, so surely he was saying something utterly foul or making a ridiculous request.

It was Nikandros who chimed in. “Yes, beautifully so. Your roommate is the real deal.”

“A treasure trove.” Auguste agreed. “We’re going to give this our full attention until he runs out of information for us.”

“We’ve decided to put some of my faction on it.” Damen explained. “After the first set of raids, the Regency will be on guard for Veretians attempting to infiltrate their ranks. So we’re sending in two Akielons.”

“Virgo and Scorpio are some of the best.” Nikandros agreed.

Berenger wondered about that.

From what he had seen of the Akielons in Ios, they were all massively tall and muscular with auras that radiated danger. Looking at Damen and Nikandros, he could not imagine who would see them and think them pets.

“I can imagine.” Lazar chimed in unhelpfully. “Generalizations aside, every person I’ve met from Ios could split me like a melon.” He took care to avoid Damen, knowing that Laurent would flay even their greatest tech genius if he knew Lazar was ogling his husband. Nikandros got most of the eye-fucking and took it with a wry grin.

“I have someone in mind you are going to _love_.” Nikandros said in his slightly accented Veretian.

“Is it you?”

“Not today. But I have a coworker who can crush a man’s head between his thighs.”

Lazar nearly threw his laptop to the side. “ _What_ is his number and can he break my back and does he like reptiles?”

Nikandros and Damen began to shake with laughter and Berenger ignored what was sure to be a lascivious conversation in favor of turning his attention back to Auguste. Auguste seemed prepared for him.

“So… you were tired then?”

“I have…felt better.”

“Are you having difficulties?” Auguste seemed sincere but Berenger saw that glimmer of wickedness. “Who would have thought that our most capable man would be having contentions with a simple escort.”

There was nothing simple about Ancel. He was mercurial as the weather.

“It’s like living with a fire-breathing dragon.”

Auguste snorted. “And you have not been tempted in the least?” They had known each other long enough that Berenger knew he was joking. Berenger gave him a long exhausted look.

“Please. I am a professional.”

“Ah, Berenger you really are one of a kind.” Auguste patted his back. “It looks as though my brother is handling this beautifully.” Ancel was looking sharply furious and Laurent was smiling beatifically at whatever had just been said. “You think a glass of cognac and a quiet lounge would wake you up a little bit?” Auguste could always be counted on for a decent drink even if he was a little mischievous.

Lazar helped him make the decision.

“If you jerked the both of them off at the same time would it be called a strawberry-vanilla milkshake?” To which Damen clouted him on the back of the head.

Berenger would take his chances with Auguste over dealing with Lazar’s madness. “So…drinks then?”

There was a lounge set up in one of the side rooms—one of the only rooms in the whole building that had been properly furnished—and some of Auguste’s choice alcohols were set up on a bar cart within easy reach.

Berenger took his glass with equal parts cognac and water and sank into one of the couches.

“I feel like death.” Berenger admitted as he took a sip of his drink. As with any alcohol, he felt the pleasant warmth radiate from his stomach and did all he could to not enjoy it.

“Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Berenger gave him a long look and then began on the trials and tribulations he had endured in the week and a half Ancel had been living with him. He had been losing sleep because Ancel liked to dance in living room at 3 A.M. with music that was not soft or pleasant. He had gotten home early one day and found Ancel lounging on his leather couch eating sushi, naked from the waist down and the lavender anal beads only hanging out of him by a hoop. And Berenger felt as though even the numerical peace he found in work was regularly disrupted by endless texts and calls where Ancel tried to wheedle something out of him.

Usually it was money.

Berenger had had to cancel all his credit cards and request new ones because Ancel—ignorant of what ‘deign’ and ‘parameters’ were—could apparently memorize the twelve numbers of his credit, the expiration date, and the three numbers on the back.

He was surprising in the worst of ways, really.

“Ok, so…” Auguste took another drink, “quite a handful then.”

“That’s the general assessment.”

“Do you know anything about him other than how he enjoys his sushi?” Auguste asked.

“Only what Lazar told me. Or what he’s let slip.” Berenger shrugged. “I’ve not been prying. I feel like it’s better…the less I know.”

“Very cautious of you.”

“Is it bad?”

Auguste rubbed his thumb around the rim of his glass. “It is certainly not good. It might warm you to him if you knew more.”

“I thought the entire point was to not warm up to him.”

“You don’t have to love someone to be sweet and compassionate. He’s had a rough time of it. No wonder he’s a goddamn terror.”

“Oh he’s none so bad,” came a voice from behind them and Laurent breezed in triumphantly. Obviously he had gotten what he wanted. “And gods, our Uncle is an idiot to have let that one slip through his fingers. He’s got a hell of a memory too. Berenger, how are you?”

“Tired of our little informant.” Auguste responded.

“Really?” Laurent drank ice water, his expression nearly unreadable.

“I worry I might…not be cut out for this kind of thing. I feel like he and I are headed towards mutually-assured destruction.”

“I trust you to be able to handle it.” Laurent said, having heard none of Berenger’s conversation with Auguste. “And I need someone with your intelligence and caution to house him. The Regency will know what’s going on after this next round. They’re going to try to hunt him down.”

Berenger balked, thinking that the brothers might find him questioning their judgement.

He counted the multiples of five trying not to dwell on the potential confrontation. His immediate instinct was to de-escalate the situation before offense was caused and Laurent set to tearing him to pieces. Anticipation built up inside and he could feel cold sweat on the back of his neck.

The smell of alcohol and the feeling of tension were almost too much to bear.

“I understand your reasoning and…it’s an honest request.” Berenger said thinking of the exhaustion that had set in under his eyes. “Could you please have someone else house him? Gods, it’s only been a little over a week and I am always worried he’s going to burn my house to the ground if I refuse to buy him things.”

“Has he tried to seduce you?” Auguste asked between sips of coffee.

“I haven’t noticed.” Berenger said after a moment of retrospect and Laurent surprised him by bursting into laughter.

“This is why you’re perfect for this. He’s a beautiful young man and I’m sure he’s been trying to get you to lower your defenses but you haven’t even noticed that he’s been attempting. Half the men in our agency would bed him the moment he set foot in their apartments.” Laurent’s eyes were wide and honest and Berenger remembered how he would follow these brothers to the ends of the earth. “I _trust_ you with this, Berenger. More than anyone else.”

Shit.

“All right.” He sighed. “I’ll keep on it a bit longer. I just…might need some flexibility with my schedule.”

“Of course!” Auguste clapped him on the shoulder. “As Laurent said, you’re reliable.”

Despite the fact that they found him strong in the face of Ancel, Berenger felt he was weak to the honest request of these brothers. Auguste had his arm draped over Berenger’s shoulder and Laurent had touched his arm in camaraderie as they exited the room to meet up again with Ancel. Auguste hung back so Ancel wouldn’t see his face and Ancel narrowed his eyes when Berenger and Laurent emerged.

“Hey Berry.”

Laurent hiccupped and Berenger counted to five. “Hey Ancel. You ready to go back?”

“Oh?” There was something sharp about his tone and his movements. “Back to your apartment?”

“Where else would we go?”

Ancel did not reveal where else he thought they might go until the door to Berenger’s apartment closed. Then his shoulders stiffened and Berenger saw his nails dig into his palms. Berenger took a deep breath in preparation for what was sure to be an onslaught.

“I have a card from your bosses now and twenty thousand. You don’t need to make an effort anymore.” He whirled around and his color was high. “In fact, you don’t even have to look at me, you asshole!”

“Where did this come from?”

“I know you think I’m a stupid whore and a pain in the ass but you’re not all that great yourself! All your rules and the way you stare at me like I’m trash; I’m not blind!” Berenger must have looked truly perplexed because Ancel elaborated on what had caused his outburst. “I heard you, asshole! I heard you begging that blond bitch through the wall that I was ruining your fucking precious life!”

“Ah.”

Berenger did feel a little bad that his language had been so strong. But he was stressed and did not feel safe or comfortable in his house when he was concerned Ancel was listening.

Ancel was apparently waiting on some other response than ‘ah’ but when Berenger was not forthcoming within five seconds, he lost his patience.

“It pisses me the fuck off! I don’t _get_ you!” His hair seemed to breathe, like it was actually made of flame. “You never give me any sort of feeling. You never seem happy or upset; hell, you don’t even get angry!”

Berenger’s brow furrowed. “You _want_ me to be angry? I think you have more than enough emotion for the both of us.”

Besides, he could not, he would not ever let himself be angry.

“Just like that.” Ancel cocked his hip and rolled his eyes like some teenager having a fit. “Always so dry and condescending. And boring. And lonely.” It would have cut deeper if Berenger had not already accepted it as true. “I know I’m a fucking burden to everyone but goddamn…could you not pretend a little better?”

“Please don’t cry.” Berenger replied; he was the worst with tears. An awkward pat on the shoulder would be all the comfort someone could expect from him.

“I never cry.”

And then Ancel was almost running away, his long legs worth two steps of anyone else’s, his whole body tense with energy and anger. He only paused by the door to the spare bedroom and Berenger found himself impressed that Ancel did not look at all beaten by this.

He was still clearly annoyed, borderlining furious. “You know I didn’t want this either.”

“Being caught?”

“Any of it. I didn’t want any of this.” And then he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls.

 


	8. Berenger Gets Punched in the Stomach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this might be my favorite chapter title haha!  
> We are (around?) halfway through this story and I honestly think this part might be the turning point for Berry. He makes very valid points about his suspicions and he's angry enough to let this happen so things can only go up from here!....or at least he hopes so haha! Nothing like a good punch in the gut ;)  
> Also I headcanon Berry as a lot like Laurent in that they look very slender and un-intimidating when dressed, but they are CUT under their clothes. I'm sure Ancel is 1000% into it ;)  
> Also this chapter is dedicated to the 2 lovely people who donated to me on Ko-fi <3 You are the sweetest and you keep me inspired to write!  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Gets Punched in the Stomach**

Ancel did not speak to him for a solid week.

In fact, Ancel went so far out of his way to avoid Berenger and they were awake at such different times that Berenger began to wonder if Ancel was still even there.

He had been so concerned that one morning he had actually checked the spare bedroom before leaving for work. He was relieved to see Ancel still there and found that the young man was much more pleasant when he was asleep. Though his hair and long limbs did take up most of the queen-sized bed.

Dinner was the only time when Ancel would join him and the tension was such that Berenger was sure Ancel would claw his eyes out if there was not a table between the two of them.

Berenger was mildly surprised then, when he was in his pajamas reading a book at the dinner table and Ancel strutted out of the room with a sort of careless ease. He started when he saw Berenger, eyes narrowing at the book; apparently he had not expected Berenger to be out of his room.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“In the kitchen?”

“It’s my apartment.” Berenger said; he refused to read in his bedroom for fear that the chapter count would haunt him and he would stay up all night reading. He had tried to convince himself that he would not get in trouble for being caught but…some habits were hard to break. “What are you doing?”

“Wine.” Ancel had recently discovered the stash of wines that Berenger had received as gifts over the years. It was still astonishing to watch him drink an entire bottle and see that his step did not even falter.

Even more astonishing was that Ancel fetched a wine glass and sat across from Berenger at the kitchen table.

It was a grand total of one minute before the peaceful silence was too much for Ancel to bear.

“Why do you hate the Regency so much?”

Berenger sighed and searched for his bookmark, sensing a long conversation in the works. “What gave you that impression?”

“It’s pretty clear you and your icy hot boss are trying to farm me for information. Either you’re all stupid and trying to blackmail them _or_ ,” he took such a long drink of wine that he had to refill his glass, “you’re suicidal and want to try and take them down.”

“Perceptive.” Berenger said, refusing to give anything away.

“I’m not stupid.” Ancel glared and it was not in good nature. “Why?”

“You can hardly argue that your former…employers are good people. But it is not my business to know these things. I am just a simple a—.”

“Assassin.”

“ _Accountant_.” He felt annoyance over Ancel bringing up his side profession yet again in spite of their rules. “I don’t decide who to interrogate or which questions to ask. I just do as I’m asked.”

“You certainly are good at doing nothing. At deflecting questions.”

“You certainly are good at breaking rules.”

Ancel gripped the stem of his wineglass such that Berenger was worried he would shatter it. The scent of the wine finally wafted over to him and it set his teeth on edge. He clenched himself tight without realizing.

Berenger counted seconds to calm himself but he could not help but remember the heirloom grandfather clock in the library of his childhood home. He slid the book off the table out of habit, hiding it from sight.

“I’m kind of disappointed to be honest. I thought you’d be much more badass as an assassin but I feel like you almost took it up so that you could do something tougher than high school math.”

Berenger thought of the first time he had shot a rifle and the sickness that had washed through him.

“Are you a fool? Or can you simply not read?” He asked. “I said not to ask about my line of work.”

Ancel inhaled sharply, obviously offended by something Berenger had said but Berenger could not find it in his heart to care. Of all the things he had said to Ancel, surely this was not too egregious.

“What are the chances of us going out?” Ancel asked and his tone was flat.

“Slim to none.”

“So your boss,” Ancel leaned his chin onto his palms, “he’s a cold drink of water. I’d think he was in _my_ line of work if he wasn’t so cold.” Berenger respected Laurent and Auguste too much to let this slide.

“Do not talk about him.” Berenger ordered, perhaps a little sharper than he meant.

“Why am I not allowed to ask anything?” Ancel asked, slamming his palms flat on the table. “How do I know if you’re good people? Are you going to use all this shit against me? What are you going to do with me when I’m not useful anymore?”

The numbers would not come fast enough and Berenger felt himself getting annoyed. “It’s not for you to know! We cannot let anyone who’s a possible double—.”

He stopped before he let slip his suspicions but Ancel was quick.

His long-lashed eyes grew wide and then shimmered with fury. “After all I’ve done? I’ve put my fucking life on the line! I’ve resigned myself to endless days in this fucking apartment! And you think I’m double-crossing you? Is it because I’m an escort? I’ve done _everything_ you fuckers told me to do!”

“You betrayed the Regency in heartbeat.” Berenger knew he was being cruel but he felt the words bubble up before he could help it. “Who’s to say you won’t do the same for us when offered a better deal?”

Ancel was too in control of his negative emotions to let it show outright, but Berenger could tell he was hurt. And also angry. Very angry.

It was a good thing that Berenger had quick reflexes.

He ducked as something sailed past where his forehead had been only a moment before. It was a miracle that the wooden puzzle box did not shatter on the floor, though the plastic jewels did spill out.

“You think I’m so…so… _cheap_?”

Berenger did not trust himself to speak and counted the edges on the gems. Apparently his silence was just as culpable as saying something cruel, because after a few moments, Ancel’s bony shoulder connected with his. He had a surprising amount of force behind that twiggy body.

It sounded like he was tearing the spare bedroom apart as Berenger picked up the puzzle box and replaced it on the table.

When Ancel re-emerged from his bedroom, he had his phone in his hand and the gold and black ankle boots on. “I’m leaving.”

Berenger knew in the sensible part of his mind that he should follow Ancel, but he was in such a state bordering anger that he did not trust himself to speak. He watched Ancel’s steps, the numbers not coming to mind; he was coiled tighter than a spring.

Only when the front door was slammed did he let breath come.

His hands were shaking as he picked up the wooden box off the floor. He was relieved it had not shattered.

Gods, it was beautiful to know peace and order had been restored to his apartment but he felt a twinge of unease. It was too quiet knowing that he and Ancel had fucked this little arrangement up so badly.

But Berenger could not allow himself to get angry.

Anger frightened him, it caused a sound like the rushing of waves in his ears, it made his hands shake and he could not tell if he was poised to strike or paralyzed by fear. He would not lose control.

Berenger tried to think of any orderly set of numbers, finally grasping on some of the confidential files that he had locked in the lowest drawer of his desk until they could be properly scanned and shredded.

He remembered the files he had seen on the Regency.

The fingers that had been cut off at the knuckles. The faces that needed surgery. The slim backs that were half flayed from whippings. The ones they found were as red as Ancel’s hair and Berenger lost all his anger.

Now he only felt ill and panicked.

He should not have let Ancel out. He had been a stubborn fool and now the young man might very well be captured and tortured and killed. And Laurent and Auguste would kill him.

He had to get Ancel back.

Berenger snatched the beige dressing gown off the back of the kitchen chair and slipped on the first pair of shoes in the entryway.

He was down the stairwell, leaping over the last two steps of each flight and was out the front lobby in record time.

Berenger ran out into the sidewalk area in front of his building, his eyes scanning the dark in desperation looking for that wild red hair. But he remembered Ancel’s long ass legs and the determined stride he took when he was angry and knew that he had given the young man too much of a head start.

Luckily, walking straight would lead out onto a fairly busy road, narrowing his choice of direction to right or left. As he glanced right, he saw a man grinding the stub of a cigarette under his shoe; perhaps he had seen Ancel storm away.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” His accent was slightly Patran.

“Did you see a young man walk past a moment ago? It’s hard to miss him. He’s tall and he has bright red hair.”

At first the man looked bored when Berenger asked him about a generic young man, but he perked up when the red hair was mentioned. “Oh gods, that was a man? Thought he was one of those flat-chested Veretian models. Yeah I saw him.” His glance gave him away and Berenger started jogging to the right as he indicated, “He went that way.”

“Thank you!” Berenger called over his shoulder.

“Your boyfriend is smoking hot! Good luck getting him back!”

“He’s not my—!” Berenger almost paused to explain but then remembered he was in a hurry. “Oh fuck it!”

Berenger had never exactly felt the desire to explore his neighborhood late at night and was surprised to find that many of the cozy cafes and restaurants were transformed into crowded bars festooned in fairy lights.

 _Like diamonds_ , Berenger thought.

He followed the brightest and the loudest of the establishments out of sheer instinct. Berenger felt he knew Ancel’s tastes and knew that he liked loud and bright places populated with people and alcohol and money. Berenger jolted at any glimmer of red.

It was down a side street, one of those claustrophoic alleys sandwiched between a basement bar and a sex shop, that Berenger finally saw that long blood-red hair and he paused to breathe a sigh of relief.

His relief was relatively short-lived.

Ancel’s posture was distinctly defensive, his smile more like a snarl as he tried to wrest his arm from the man who held it in his meaty fist. Berenger cursed himself for not bringing his smaller gun. At least the man did not seem like a brute from the Regency. He was dressed like a law student unwinding on the weekend, a beer in his free hand and an expression of drunken hunger; he was clearly out of his league with Ancel.

Berenger squared his shoulders and tried to appear authoritative…as authoritative as someone could be in a beige dressing gown and worn out loafers.

“A—,” It wouldn’t go over well to be shouting Ancel’s name in this bar district and he hated ‘Red’. “Oy! Strawberry!”

Ancel’s head whipped around, expression baffled disbelief at the nickname. As soon as he saw Berenger, Berenger swore he sagged in relief.

“Berenger!”

Berenger was next to them in a moment, trying to figure out how he could de-escalate the situation. The man had a couple of inches and several pounds on Berenger and he did not appear to be at all deterred. He did not release Ancel’s arm.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is my…roommate.” Berenger caught Ancel rolling his eyes in disbelief that Berenger could not pretend they were dating. “I’d like to respectfully ask you to let him return to me.”

“Man, fuck you!”

“Let me go, asshole!” Ancel said, somehow still sounding sweet. “You couldn’t afford me in a thousand years.”

“So you _are_ a whore. This is your pimp then? He dresses like my grandpa.”

“I’m not a pimp!” Berenger protested. “And he’s not a whore! He just dresses like one.”

“Hey!” Ancel shouted at him, betrayed.

“Sorry—no, he’s not a whore. He’s my roommate and you should let him go.”

“Mmmm, fuck you man.”

Ancel yelped as his arm was jerked and Berenger moved without thinking. He grasped the man’s wrist stopping him in his tracks. “Perhaps my meaning was unclear.” He said coldly, numbers forgotten. “Let him go.”

The man holding Ancel rolled his eyes before shoving Ancel from him so that he stumbled and fell. Berenger’s attention was only taken for a moment but it was enough. Ancel noticed and shouted.

“Berry, look out!”

Berenger felt the fist connect to his solar plexus and he felt the air vacate his lungs in one millisecond. No air replaced it and Berenger sank to his knees on the street.

“ _Berry_!” Ancel’s voice was a grating screech next to his ear and he must have found his legs, because Berenger felt protective arms around him and twisted his ankle as Ancel yanked him against his chest.

“ _Fuck!_ ” He croaked.

“Man, fuck you bitches.” Berenger’s attacker spat, clearly finding Ancel more trouble than he was worth. Ancel yelped and Berenger felt something splash at his feet; he prayed it wasn’t piss but, thankfully, smelled alcohol a moment later.

“Asshole.” Ancel whispered venomously. Then he yanked Berenger’s face up by the chin, his expression filled with concern. “Berry are you alright? Does it hurt?” Berenger could only wheeze. “Can you stand?”

The answer was technically no.

Berenger just wanted to curl into a ball and wait until the pain dissolved into a dull throb but he also did not want to lie in the street in his pajamas. He had Ancel help him to his feet and the two of them shuffled towards home.

 

“You’re pretty cut, you know that? Does all this come from cooking books? Crunching numbers?”

Berenger was lounging on his bed with his shirt off, surveying the spot on his abdomen that was sure to be bruised the next morning. Ancel was surprisingly attentive to him, helping elevate his feet, and putting a cold pack on his throbbing stomach.

Currently Ancel was staring at Berenger’s bare chest while carrying a glass of water and an aspirin.

“Self-defense classes.”

Ancel laughed and accidentally sloshed water down Berenger’s chest. “Man, you should ask for a refund.”

“He caught me off guard. And I never thought you’d be the nursing type.” They had come back to the apartment and Ancel had shoved him onto the bed, stripping his shirt off, and ordered him to do a litany of things to prevent the pain. “Where did you learn all of this anyway?”

Ancel smiled though it was touched with bitterness. “You really do have no goddamn common sense, Berry. Those rich fuckers who buy from the Regency well…bruises are the least of our problems.”

Berenger recalled what he knew of the Regency and thought of the broken bones and the lashes and the bodies with bruises instead of freckles and he felt like it was very difficult to swallow. “I…I haven’t been as welcoming as…”

“I mean, your boss did force you.”

“Killing people…is a bit of a sore spot with me.”

“You don’t say!”

“It’s…not exactly what I pictured myself doing.” Berenger admitted. “It wasn’t my dream but…I’m good at it.”

“That makes two of us.” Ancel handed Berenger the aspirin.

“I’m sorry if I was…too harsh. I’m used to being on my own and not sharing my space. I’ll try to…be more accommodating, for both of our sanities.”

“You’re much nicer than some of the guys I’ve spent the night with before.”

“Please just…tell me if I say something terrible. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t meant to…”

“Don’t be weird about it. Not many people can hurt me.” Ancel laughed and jolted as Berenger touched his arm. There were finger marks there.

“He hurt you.”

“I’m used to it.” Ancel said coldly.

“You should not have to be used to it.” Berenger dropped his hand. “And regardless, I shouldn't have made you desperate enough to run. I wouldn't forgive myself if the Regency had found you.”

“I bet your sexy blond boss would have been pissed.” Ancel’s tone was all jealousy.

Berenger shook his head. It would be useless to explain that anyone who showed the vaguest of interests in Laurent would find themselves in the bottom of the harbor with Akielon-made weights strapped to their shoes and a personal cease-and-desist letter from Damianos stapled to their forehead. “He would have. He hates the Regency and…we all have seen what they do to traitors.” Ancel’s face blanched and Berenger gave the lightest tap to his knuckles. “Don’t worry. If anyone tries to get you I’m going to shoot them.”

Ancel looked at him with the expression of a man who had been burned too many times.

“You’re breaking rule six.”

Berenger smiled as Ancel took the ice pack from his stomach and went to return it to the freezer. “You broke rule one, Strawberry.”

“Why ‘Strawberry’?” Ancel was flushed.

“You hate ‘Red’.”

Obviously it was the right thing to say. Ancel gripped the ice pack, turning, if possible, even redder. “Thank you.”


	9. Berenger Starts a Book Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry I didn't upload yesterday, but things have been crazy at work and I wasn't able to slip away during lunch for an afternoon upload.   
> In any case! I've got it up today and I've still got to rush haha! But Berenger's about to discover a pretty big ass secret! Enjoy!  
> (Also, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!)

**Berenger Starts a Book Club**

Their peace actually lasted.

Berenger was surprised to see it, but Ancel not only kept to the rules but he even made himself more agreeable as the days progressed.

He ceased to play his music and dance in the living room in the middle of the night, he accepted the laptop Jord had bugged without question, and had even begun to help cooking dinner—showing a special aptitude for mixing sauces together. He was always lamenting about the nutritional value of food but favored rich pastas and good, thick cuts of meat.  

It seemed useless to complain in any case since Ancel spent so much time moving around doing yoga and floor exercises and dancing with such lightness that he sometimes didn’t even seem to touch the ground.

Berenger had no coordination or skill when it came to dance and simply sat back to read or do crossword puzzles as Ancel spun in a tiny whirlwind. His greatest victory was convincing Ancel to wear shorts longer than his ass cheeks to these impromptu shows.

“Aren’t you cold?” Berenger had asked in disbelief as he saw the most recent pair of tiny briefs in mauve satin.

“You don’t like looking at my legs?” Ancel responded without looking up from the candle he was lighting; he seemed remarkably comfortable around fire. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“I’ve never considered it one way or the other.” Berenger admitted.

“You can't even pay me that compliment?”

Berenger knew Ancel was aware of his good looks. “You’re no longer an escort; you don’t need payment.” His lips quirked up in a smile as Ancel frowned at the wordplay. “I’ll give you a word of warning though. You might want to watch that flame or you’ll burn yourself.”

Ancel paused so that he could run his fingers leisurely over the lit wick of the candle. The flame danced between the curves of his hand and Berenger was mesmerized at how the fire moved like Ancel had. His white skin was unblemished as he pulled his hand away.

More so than long legs, playing with fire was more beautiful to Berenger. He was used to fire being a wild, destructive thing that ate through the paper of books and the wood of puzzle boxes. But he supposed with such a force as Ancel, the fire would match perfectly.

“I’ll never be burned. I’m good with fire. I can even dance with it.”

“Yes, I’ve seen how good. All the evidence, up in smoke.” Berenger turned his eyes back to his book and Ancel laughed.

“I bet you’d think it’s beautiful. Everyone does.”

Still, the thought of Ancel dancing with flames caught on in Berenger’s mind and he began to wonder. Part of their burgeoning peace made him comfortable enough to begin asking Ancel questions about his past.

“Where did you even learn to dance with fire?”

Ancel grinned as he painted his fingernails a pale rose. “It sounds utterly ridiculous but…my neighbors as a kid were travelers in a Patran circus. _Seriously_!” He laughed at Berenger’s expression. “It must not have paid well since they lived in such a shithole but sometimes when my parents were…busy, I’d sneak next door and have them show me some acrobatic shit.”

“How bold of you.”

“Like you never visited your neighbors.”

“I had no neighbors.” Berenger said. He would have preferred neighbors, but his childhood home was too sprawling. He had had to go to the stables to hide…

“Rich boy.” Ancel bumped Berenger’s leg and Berenger noticed a swipe of pink nail polish on his pant legs. “Oops! Was your estate so enormous you didn’t have neighbors?”

“Something like that. We did have the maids and a gardner and a cook and a stablemaster though.”

He knew Ancel would love his childhood home for the aura of old money it exuded: the high ceilings and marble floors and the vast acres of land. Berenger hated even the memory of the place.

“Stablemaster?” Ancel took on a faux aristocratic accent. “You had horses in your house?”

“Not _in_ the house. But yes we have horses. Why, do you like them?” Horseback riding was one of the few things he did that could be considered a sport and he thought of a strawberry roan and a spirited bay stallion that would suit Ancel’s coloring and temperament.

“I’ve never ridden a horse before.” Ancel wrinkled his nose, “But they seem big and scary…and smelly.”

Hard to argue with that. Still… “It’s easier than it looks. Just grip with your legs—.”

“My thighs do have a strong grip.”

“Or you’ll bust your ass falling off the horse.” Berenger laughed at the thought and Ancel kicked him; there was another spot of pink paint on Berenger’s pants. “Ahhh Strawberry, maybe then you’ll know what it’s like to have a pain in your ass.”

Their nicknames had stuck too.

Berenger had Ancel as a little strawberry emoji in his contacts, bracing himself whenever he saw the onslaught of berries during work hours.

It was the berries that started everything.

Berenger was working late one Friday evening, going through the expense reports of Laurent’s personal missions; it never failed to amaze Berenger that his success rate was almost one hundred percent. He had one file left when he got the call from Ancel.

He knew better to ignore it at this point and picked up the phone after the first ring.

“Strawberry?”

“ _Berry_! Where are you?” There was a beeping in the background and Berenger prepared for a headache. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago!”

“What is that beeping noise?”

“The fire alarm.”

“Why the fuck is the fire alarm going off?”

“The food caught on fire,” Ancel hissed accusingly as if the food had grabbed a can of lighter fluid and caught itself on fire.

“I thought you could control fire.” Berenger said dryly thinking of the scorch marks on the white subway tile of his kitchen.

“Fuck you! I put it out but now the fire alarm is going off and I…don’t know how to turn it off.”

The instructions were written on the side of alarm but Berenger had a distinct feeling that Ancel’s course of action would be to beat it with a broom. It would be easier just to bring the last file home and fix the alarm himself.

“I’ll be there in a bit. For gods’ sake, don’t touch anything flammable.”

He hung up before Ancel could curse him out and put the final file into his briefcase.

Thankfully when he got back to the apartment he found that the only true casualty of Ancel was one of his cast iron skillets. The top was brackish and charred to some horrible blackish-brown mess that Ancel was glaring at. At least the smell of burnt food had dissipated.

Berenger tossed his briefcase on the table and hoisted himself up on one of the dining room chairs to deal with the fire alarm that was still beeping incessantly.

“Do you need help?” Ancel asked.

“Do not help me please.” Berenger insisted, feeling as though he might be grievously injured should Ancel step in. “Just watch in case you set something else on fire and need to deal with this.”

He read the instructions on the side of the alarm, turning the dial down before hitting the reset button. The beeping stopped and Berenger’s ears were ringing from being so close.

“I’ll just take the batteries out.” Ancel shrugged.

“If you burn my house down, I swear to god,” Berenger sighed getting down from the table and grasping the handle of the skillet. He did not care for the smell of burnt pasta and carried the mess out to the communal garbage incinerator in the hall. At least he could use this incident to tease Ancel’s ‘control’ over fire for the next lifetime.

As he entered the apartment Berenger paused, truly taking in what he was seeing before he allowed himself to react.

Ancel let the lip of the file peeping out of Berenger’s briefcase fall back down looking remarkably unperturbed that he had been caught looking at one of Arles’ confidential files. “Berry, you all right?” He asked, loping over.

Berenger dropped the pan and caught him by the arm, steering him to the couch in spite of his protests. Berenger felt a drip of cold fear, knowing that even something as innocuous as this in the hands of a double agent would be considered a huge fuck-up.

“What the fuck?” Ancel asked, pouting as his ass landed on the couch cushions. “What are you pissed about now?”

“I’m not…pissed. Just…” perhaps he could try to downplay the importance of whatever Ancel had seen, “I need to know what you saw in that file on the table. Exactly what you saw.”

Ancel looked surprised. “Oh that thing? Not much. Just pages with lots words on them.”

“Which specific pages?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You _saw_ them.”

“I saw them, I didn’t read them.” Ancel shrugged. “It was just a glance. I didn’t read anything.”

“This is important, Ancel!”

“I didn’t read anything, I swear to the gods!”

Berenger shook his head. “I have to call my boss.”

“Fucking _believe_ me! I didn’t read shit!”

“Can you prove it?”

“I don’t know how to fucking read, alright?” Ancel shouted in irritation and then calmed himself just as quickly. If Berenger did know him any better, he would have thought Ancel spoke with embarrassment. “I never learned how to read, so…maybe get off my back about it?”

It was beyond belief for Berenger but he tried to be understanding. “I…ok. Ok, damn. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He thought back to some of the ridiculous things Ancel had requested before that now made a little more sense. How he preferred to call instead of text and was desperate for a voice-to-text function on his phone. How he was desperate for a microphone for his computer and how he showed something akin to disdain whenever Berenger offered him books.

“It’s not really something to brag about.” Ancel admitted as he drew his knees to his chest, grasping them defensively.

“How did you write the name on my credit card then? Or find the clothing websites?”

“I can remember the order of symbols well enough! I just…can’t always put the sounds to the symbols. I just remember the important stuff.”

“Credit card numbers?” Berenger asked in disbelief.

“It’s important to me.” Ancel said and Berenger would have loved in that moment to see the scale by which Ancel judged the importance of things.

“I take it you were a bit of a handful of a student then?” Berenger could only feel pity for Ancel’s teacher; surely he had been a terror when he was small.

“God I wish!” Ancel sighed. “I would have loved to go to school. But my parents were—how do I put this—a fucking trainwreck. I had to stay home most of the time and measure out shots of whiskey; by the time I went to my aunt’s house I was so far behind she had to start from scratch.” He shrugged. “Even so I was always better at math.”

Berenger must have looked truly disbelieving.

Ancel laughed. “You’re the _worst_! I swear to the gods, I’m not lying! Numbers are easy to understand; besides you have to know how much a couple bumps of crystal goes for or how much virginity costs the fifth or sixth time.” The shock leaked into his features despite his best efforts and Ancel grinned. “I’m telling you, Berry: I’m good with numbers.”

Berenger had so many questions after this little conversation but he didn't know what might cause Ancel offense. Apparently his life was much harder than even Lazar had discovered.

“Do you…want to learn?”

One perfectly manicured foot touched the ground. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to learn to read and write?” Berenger offered again. “I could teach you. If you like.”

Ancel blinked, unbelieving. And then he turned just as red as his hair before he could catch himself. “I mean…sure, I can try. Not much time to learn to read in whore school.” He glanced at a stack of books on the coffee table and determination caught fast in his eyes. “Yeah…I want to try.”

“We can practice when I return from work each day.”

“Ok. But you can’t make fun of me if I fuck up!” He laughed but Berenger did not join him.

“I would not. You can’t help that you’ve encountered difficulties.”

Ancel’s eyes grew wide and he pressed his cheek against his knee. “Thanks, Berry…”

“Imagine how unstoppable you’ll be once you can read.” He was already plotting out how they would go about their lessons, his newest puzzle to be solved. And speaking of which… “Wait here.”

Berenger walked to his closet and retrieved all of his puzzle boxes and brainteasers and the wooden pieces that were interlocking to create figures and animals and flowers. He was interested to see which puzzles Ancel would enjoy. It was almost like an adrenaline rush, having someone who shared his interest in puzzles.

His younger self would have been elated to know someone like that…to have a friend even.

And his joy increased as Ancel saw his collection gathered on the table. His green eyes glittered with cunning.

“You said you liked puzzles and math.”

“I did. I can get out of handcuffs in a minute; zip ties only take me about a minute and a half.”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I have neither handcuffs or zip ties in my apartment.”

“You can always use your brown shoelaces to tie your lover to the bed.” Ancel said as he picked up and weighed some of the puzzles. “What prize do I get if I solve it?”

Berenger paused. “There—what? There’s no prize.”

“Twenty bucks says I can solve this faster than you.” Ancel offered inspecting a set of pieces that Berenger had commissioned to create a moving clock. “Or—no! That’s not fair; you’ve already solved these before. If I solve it in under ten minutes, you buy me a real gemstone.”

“How are the prizes becoming more expensive?” Berenger asked, though he could not help but consider how nicely a pair of peridot studs would look in comparison to Ancel’s skin and hair.

Ancel smiled as he began to fit the pieces together. “Because I’m worth it.”

 

Berenger knocked on Laurent’s door, finding him thankfully absent Damen’s company, which meant his pants were on.

“Hey boss.”

“Berenger. What can I do for you?” Laurent placed whatever he had been working on to the side and gave Berenger his full attention. He seemed pleased that Berenger had not launched a complaint since before the night Ancel had run from the apartment.

Berenger had apologized profusely for that incident and Nikandros had been dispatched along with one or two of Ios’ ‘hunters’ to track down the young man who had seen Ancel’s face. Nikandros had assured them that he was in no way affliated to the Regency and after the interrogation the hunters had put him through, he was probably ruined for redheads forever.

“This might be an odd request for me but…can I read the updated file on the Regency?”

Though Laurent kept smiling, his eyes were suddenly cold. “Research on your current case?”

“I say the wrong things and I don’t…” He remembered how quickly Ancel had been able to solve some of the interlocking puzzles and how he had always thought the young man vapid. “I don’t want to make this more painful than it has already been.” Laurent searched his expression for lies and Berenger could not help but laugh. “You know I’m not stupid enough to lie to you.”

That broke the spell and Laurent laughed with him. “Gods, you’ve caught me and Damianos isn’t here to tell me when I’m being unreasonable. I trust you. I’ll send the file now.”

“Thank you.”

Laurent, as always, was good as his word and the overall file they had on the Regency was waiting in his inbox when he got back to his office.

He had glanced at the file before; as high up as he was in the agency, he could have looked at it any time he wanted. He never had the desire to but now that he had a tie, a direct tie, to the Regency he hesitated with heart in his throat.

He would see what Ancel had endured. Part of him felt like once he clicked on the innocent looking file, he would not be able to turn back, much like the first time he had shot a man and seen the blood bloom across his shirt. There had been no going back from that.

Berenger clicked.

He was in a difficult, often soulless line of work, but the contents inside the folder on the Regency went far past soulless.

There were thin, beautiful little things that might have been very young teenagers, though they looked into the camera with the sharp, tired looks of adults who had been through some shit. There were photos of them with clients in bars—sometimes their feet dangled high above the ground—there were pictures of lash marks and bruised faces and brands.

Berenger winced whenever he saw red hair, but it was never the right shade. Auburn and copper and carrot orange yes, but never that blood red.

Laurent, diligent as ever, kept a list of pets they had saved and the ones they had found too late; Berenger could not bear to look at what had been found, though he knew Laurent and Auguste did. It was personal for them.

They kept detailed notes on everything about the Regency: the hierarchy, where they operated, who they targeted, where they got their stock, how they trained, literally everything.

And those poor young things who had gotten past their prime and could no longer successfully pull customers were ‘retired’. Since most were never heard from again, it was widely believed they were killed or sold off.

Berenger had to exit the file, feeling distinctly ill at everything he knew Ancel had endured.

He had no idea how anyone so young could survive that specific kind of torture and his trigger finger itched. If he ever came across someone who worked for the Regency, he would shoot them on sight. There would be no mercy from him.

And now Ancel was even more of a puzzle to him.

How did he manage to survive in such a place, mouthy as he was? How did they recruit him in the first place? What on earth was bad enough to send him to the Regency?

 


	10. Berenger Gets No Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy holidays and I hope you all had an awesome time no matter what you did ;)  
> I have been home with my family and, as a result, I have not written a thing since last Friday. So...due to my busy schedule there won't be an update on January 3rd sadly. But I will get back to posting immediately after!  
> So now that Berenger has a goal in mind for Ancel they're spending more time together!!!! And he's starting to get Ancel's sense of humor ;) There is some attempted bed sharing this chapter but apparently Berenger reads enough fic to know that this shit is not going to happen in his house haha!   
> Enjoy and I will see you all in 2019!

**Berenger Gets No Sleep**

How Berenger could have ever thought Ancel was an idiot was beyond him.

Though his attention span was smaller than his shorts, his determination more than made up for it. When he really wanted something, he was immovable and he must have really wanted to learn how to read.

Berenger had never taught anyone how to read before and his collection of books was woefully unsuitable for a beginner. He wished for a moment for the storybooks he had read as a boy, with the beautiful colored illustrations and the thick pages, but…bitterness again as he remembered he no longer owned them.

It was no weak thing, to love to read.

In any case, they took the next best course of action, which was to have regular library visits.

He cleared the idea with Laurent who had laughed and made the very good point that the Regency was not known for having agents posted at the local libraries. And he was pleased that he was the first to bring Ancel to a library.

“You’ve never been before?” He asked, amazed on their drive over.

“What part about ‘I can’t read’ do you not understand?”

Berenger took the teasing with dignity and it was more than paid back when Ancel saw the rows and rows of shelves in the metropolitan library. He took steps in huge bouncing leaps, strands of long hair slipping out from under his cap with each jump. Berenger was too slow to catch him.

“I never knew there were so many books you can get for free! Don’t people steal this stuff?”

He said this at full volume, earning him a few glares from the older patrons sitting the reading nook. Berenger held his hands up apologetically; he could not in a single glance explain that stopping Ancel was like trying to stop a hurricane. When he caught up to Ancel, he tried to explain.

“You get fines for returning the books late and if you have too many or if you steal the books, you can’t use the library anymore. Also, you have to be quiet so that people can focus on reading.”

“It’s _amazing_!” Ancel whispered.

Berenger did not often go home to his estate by the mountains but he felt a rush of delight thinking of how Ancel might react to the fact that some people had libraries inside their homes. He could be as loud as he liked or dance on the study tables in the large library of his childhood home.

However, the line would have to be drawn with no candles or fire.

“Yes it is. I’m going to go find some books that are more your speed. Can you stay within sight of—?” Berenger began to point at the children’s section where he would be searching for vocabulary books but Ancel was already off running through the shelves.

He would not be stopped when offered anything vaguely akin to shopping and Berenger tried not to wince as he heard the sound of several books tumbling to the floor. He was someone else’s problem at the moment.

Forgoing the usual books on baby animals and colors and shapes, Berenger located the vocabulary books that actually had useful information for Ancel. On thick cardboard pages, Berenger found the books that would teach Ancel how to ask for help, how to read a menu, and—most importantly—how to call the authorities in case of a fire.

By the time he had selected a small stack of books, Ancel had rejoined him with some selections of his own. They were enormous and looked to be reference or art books.

“Why are those books so small?”

“They’re books for children. They have to fit in tiny baby hands.”

“Makes sense.”

“What have you found?” Berenger got to his feet and Ancel was more than pleased to show him. He must have just grabbed ones with the covers that intrigued him and then flipped through them to make sure they were mostly pictures. Most of them were books on fashion, with big glossy pages and slender, angular models but he did have another one on gemstones and jewelry. On the front cover alone was a diamond the size of a walnut, a pair of perfect pearl earrings, and an emerald bracelet that looked similar to one Berenger’s mother owned.

It was amazing how Ancel could find jewels even in the library.

“You really like gems, don’t you?”

“They’re valuable, beautiful to wear, and easy to carry. What’s not to like?” Ancel asked and then took on a look of sincere disappointment. “I had so much jewelry from clients that…” He didn’t even need to finish because Berenger remembered the only decoration that night had been the black choker.

“They let you keep the jewels? They don’t lock them away for you to use them during…?”

Ancel gave a dark look and Berenger knew that the escorts were not actually meant to keep the jewels. Surely there was a safe in the Regency dormitories and the pets had to ask permission to use their hard-earned gifts. He felt the indignity of it as well and patted Ancel’s slim shoulder.

“If you get any jewels now, I promise you can wear them whenever you want.”

“You’re going to buy me jewelry?” Ancel’s eyes glittered with greed.

“I never said that.” Berenger said walking past.

“What will you buy me?”

“Nothing. I’m getting you library books.”

“I’d rather have jewels,” Ancel grumbled.

 _Easier to shove in his ass_ , Berenger thought. “I know you would.”

In any case, Ancel’s text messages and calls did show a significant decrease when he had books to flip through and it was not much longer before he could write his own name, read ‘police’ and ‘fire’, and create a very detailed list of all the jewels he wanted. It never ceased to amaze Berenger that Ancel could not read if a bottle contained poison or not but, by the gods, he could write out the specific cut of the diamonds he wanted.

Diamonds wouldn’t suit him anyways. But reading did.

Reading was what the two of them were doing late into the evening one Friday night almost a month and a half into Ancel’s house arrest. Berenger had a comprehensive history of the Vaskian border culture in the Bone Age while Ancel was flipping through the book of gemstones again, attempting to write out ‘tourmaline’ with a furrowed brow.

Berenger felt the pull of exhaustion at about half past ten and closed his book after finishing a particularly lurid chapter on orgies. “Ancel, I’m going to bed. You can stay up if you want but don’t leave the candle burning.”

Ancel had a great love of scented candles and had been known to leave them burning until the wax melted into puddles on top of Berenger’s furniture and onto his hardwood floors.

He could go through at least four a week.

“Ok, yes, I’ll burn it.” Ancel said absentmindedly.

“Close enough. Good night, Strawberry.”

“Night, Berry!”

After his nightly routine of brushing his teeth and applying moisturizer, it was eleven o’ clock and Berenger had just enough energy left to turn off his alarm before he rolled over and fell asleep.

His dream was odd.

He was back in the hotel bar where Ancel was making drinks that consisted of diamonds poured from a glossy tumbler. Laurent was at the bar wearing a flamingo pink suit and Damianos was attempting to pick him up using a plastic bag filled with glass beer bottles. Dord was up on the bar dressed in a tiny version of Ancel’s trenchcoat as he stood up on his hind legs, spinning two candles in his claws.

His tail beat the bar in a steady beat that sounded suspiciously like—

There was an insistent knock at the door and Berenger bolted up. No one pounded like that unless it was an emergency and Berenger had the sense of mind to rip open his bedside drawer and grab his small handgun.

Ancel was waiting outside and he yelped as he saw the gun.

“What the _fuck,_ Ancel?”

“Berry why do you have a fucking _gun_?”

“Why are you banging on my door in the middle of the night?”

“It’s only two a.m.!”

Berenger gave up on arguing and simply sank to the ground so that he was sitting on the floor. He flicked the safety on and rubbed his temple with the butt of the gun. “Oh gods…you’re giving me a heart attack.”

“I can't sleep.” Ancel admitted and Berenger would have thought his tone pitiful on anyone else.

“Well that fucking makes two of us.”

They were at a stalemate for a moment until Berenger resigned himself to the inevitable. Ancel was not going to leave until he got whatever was keeping him up off of his chest. Berenger hoisted himself to his feet, keeping his finger away from the trigger. “Come on in then.”

Ancel followed him in and Berenger could practically feel him assessing the quality of everything in the room.

“Your room is nicer than mine.”

“I pay the rent. I get the nicer room.” Berenger got back into bed and the leftover warmth from his body heat on the sheets seeped insidiously into his skin. He was so fucking tired.

“Can I sit on the bed?” Ancel asked.

“This isn’t a romance novel.” Berenger said. “I have the chaise lounge you can sit on.”

Ancel glared before yanking the duvet off of Berenger’s bed and curling up on the small sofa. After the glare wore off, he nestled into the down comforter and actually looked fairly miserable. It bothered Berenger in spite of himself.

“Nightmares?”

“Anxiety.” Ancel admitted. “I can’t sleep.”

Berenger did not particularly want to open that box of issues but Ancel looked so miserable, he fought down his lack of interest. “Ok, ok. Do you want to talk about it or…?”

“Do you think they…do you think they hurt my friends?”

“Your friends?”

“My friends in the Regency.” Ancel amended, squeezing his legs tighter to his chest. “Do you think the handlers and the higher ups will hurt my friends? Like hurt them to see if they know where I’ve gone?”

In all honesty, Berenger thought it was a safe bet but he did not want Ancel to look more miserable. “I don’t think so.” He lied smoothly. “They keep individual missions secret from each of you, correct? Then your friends wouldn’t even know where you’ve gone or who your target was. Unless…you talked with them about it?”

Ancel blanched. “ _No_! Gods, no I…wouldn’t want my handler to know.”

“Your handler sounds like an asshole.”

“He was. Is.”Ancel’s expression darkened. “But…sometimes at night me and the other pets would talk about what we’d do when we got out of the Regency. I bet…I bet my friends told them that I wanted to leave, that I was planning to leave, that I was going to—.”

His tone was becoming panicked, the fear seeping in as he must have thought about what would be done to him for this perceived betrayal.

“What did you want to do once you left?” Berenger asked calmly. He kept himself level to keep Ancel’s anxiety from rising. “You can be honest with me. I doubt your dream was to be confined in an apartment with an introverted accountant.”

“Assassin.”

Berenger put the gun back in his bedside table and slammed the drawer shut. “You cannot let it be, can you?”

“I’d go back.” Ancel said. “I…my auntie has a house and she told me I was always welcome there. I’d go back and apologize for leaving without saying anything.”

“Did you set her house on fire?”

“I ran away.”

That red curtain of hair fell across Ancel’s face, obscuring his expression and Berenger was sure that the topic was a bit of a sore spot. He sighed and tossed himself back on the mattress. He wanted to sleep, he wanted his down comforter, and he wanted Ancel to feel less anxious.

“All right Strawberry. All right. You can come up here.”

Ancel crept up slowly, as if hoping that if he did not move too quickly, Berenger would not rescind his invitation. Ancel had one leg on the bed when he glanced at Berenger again, suspicion deep in his eyes. “Can I?”

As he leaned over the bed, the neck of his shirt gaped so that Berenger could see from his fat, rosy nipples all the way down.

“Oh, just remember the house rules when you get in.”

“Gods, I’m upset, not after your dick!” Ancel complained as he sank into the mattress.

Berenger remained stiff as a board, unused to having another person in his bed and tried to think of how best to diffuse the situation. “So…you were talking about your handler.”

“You fucking suck at this.” Ancel hissed.

“You say I suck at a lot of things. But I’m not the one who woke my roommate up at two in the morning.” Berenger pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen…sorry I’m sharp. I’m _tired_. But if you want to talk, I’ll listen. I’m…I don’t suck at listening. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Your hot boss tell you that?”

“You’ve got to stop with that.” Berenger laughed. “He is _married_.”

Ancel steamed about it for a few more moments before he relaxed. “I just keep feeling like they know where I am. That I’m being watched. Berry, if my handler catches me he’s gonna fuck me up. Oh god they’re gonna hurt me, they’ll kill me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die…”

Hesitantly, Berenger reached out to touch Ancel’s shoulder. In the dark he felt very fragile. “Strawberry—Ancel, calm down. No one is going to hurt you.”

“He will. I know he will. I’ve seen him do it.” Berenger felt a rush of bile thinking of what Ancel might have witnessed. “He calls me Red when—.”

“Listen Ancel, I will _kill_ him if he tries. I swear. It’s my job.” Berenger interrupted, not knowing if he could handle the darkness that came along with the nickname Ancel hated.

“I thought you said you were an accountant.”

“Don’t be cheeky. And don’t think too much about what won’t happen. You’re safe here. No one is going to…hurt you like the Regency would.”

“You don’t want to know, Berry?” Ancel asked sounding peaceful again. He snuggled down deeper into the blankets. In the darkness, he looked younger than his twenty years. “You’re not curious…about me? About what I’ve seen?”

Berenger reached over to awkwardly pat Ancel’s shoulder. “Sleep Strawberry.”

Ancel obliged, curling up into a tiny unobtrusive ball, though his hair fanned out over every surface. It seemed that no matter how much Berenger pushed the wavy strands aside, they continued to tickle his face.

Berenger caught sleep in snatches, nodding off only to jerk himself awake when the tips of Ancel's hair tickled his nose or his cheeks. He did not know how Laurent could stand sleeping in the same bed as Damianos when the man had a veritable mane of thick, wavy black hair. 

In any case, he was so exhausted by five a.m. that drastic measures had to be taken. Ancel was sleeping soundly, unbothered by what a nuisance he was, and Berenger was able to slide out of bed without waking him. 

Since Ancel was curled up so small it was no great feat to pick him up and carry him; in spite of all he seemed to weigh when he wanted to use his body as an anchor, he was remarkably light when asleep. 

It lasted for a good three seconds.

Ancel went rigid in his arms in a moment, all of his long limbs pushing against Berenger so that Berenger nearly dropped him. 

"Fuck!" He yelped, haphazardly grasping at flailing limbs. 

"No, please, no..." Ancel hissed through gritted teeth, his legs bracing tight together and Berenger had to stop to take a moment to breathe. 

He was counting again but it was the creaks of wooden floorboards, the amount of time he could hold his breath, a countdown to something large and terrible. He held Ancel tighter, hoping the 'pleases' and 'no's' would not devolve into bloody cracks punctuated by screams. 

Berenger was on his knees and Ancel was all angles and elbows and knees but Berenger was clenched tight too and he was stronger. "Don't! Don't touch me." Ancel dug his fingernails into Berenger's chest and it pulled him out of the mire of the countdown he had been trapped in.

For some reason it struck him as funny. Maybe it was the shock. "You want me to drop you on the floor? I'm half-tempted."

"Berry?"

"Yeah...it's me Strawberry. I would ask who you thought I was but...I'm so goddamn tired."

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” Ancel whispered and he did sound truly upset.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Berenger patted his head and was surprised to find that it was unbelievably soft. “I’m going to put you in bed now. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I did…first…” Ancel admitted, finally going limp and light again.

Berenger got back to his feet and carried Ancel back to the spare bedroom. Berenger had not been in very often since he had given it over to Ancel and he was unsurprised to find that clothes were tossed over nearly every flat surface. He had to practically dance around the shoes that littered the floor as he placed Ancel back in bed, tucking the covers in around him.

“Please Berry.” Ancel’s voice was soft and terrified in the dark. “Don’t let him come in.”

Berenger attempted to pat Ancel’s hair again but almost caught him on the eye. “I…I won’t.” He had no idea who Ancel was talking about but it was clear the young man was still half asleep and terrified. “I’ll be right outside and I won’t let anyone in.” He would shoot anyone who tried to get in.

“Ok. Thank you…”

Berenger nearly tripped over one of Ancel’s heels as he left. He was so exhausted, he almost wandered straight back to his room but he remembered his promise to Ancel and groaned.

He dragged his duvet and pillows to the living room sofa and collapsed onto the cushions. He was out the moment his eyes closed and did not open them until what seemed like well into the morning.

The sunlight came in orange but as he looked up he saw it was coming through the filter of Ancel’s wild hair. The young man smiled down at him and slices of light joined the freckles on his cheeks; Berenger prayed hazily that he was not resting on Ancel’s lap.

There was a candle burning on the coffee table and Berenger watched the wax roll down the side of the candle onto the wood surface.

 _Fuck it_.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.


	11. Berenger Takes a Secret Commission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> I hope you missed this story as much as I missed sharing it with you but I am so, SO rested and the ideas are just flowing out! This chapter is going to be one of my favorites because we get to hear what all has happened to Ancel! Berenger cannot help but be impressed when he hears how dark Ancel's life was and how he managed to be so positive as a result. And then badass Berry is back haha!  
> In other news, I will be bumping up the chapter count on this story a little (no more than 20 chapters I think) but I should be finishing up the story soon! And that means I can plan a new one!  
> If you like my stories and/or have a Twitter, please drop by to vote [here](https://twitter.com/SteeleStingray/status/1082297660197998592) on what kind of AU you'd like to see next!   
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Takes a Secret Commission**

Berenger had sincerely hoped that Ancel staying in his room was a one-time affair but it became clear that the wiring had short-circuited in Ancel’s brain and he had now decided that Berenger’s bed was the one he was meant to sleep in every night. It did not matter if Berenger locked the door; locks were just puzzles and Ancel was good with puzzles.

More often than not, Berenger woke up on a sliver of his bed with Ancel’s long limbs sprawled out across the rest of the mattress. He had become too defeated to fight back against the inevitable, but now only tried to prevent a repeat of the night Ancel had squashed up against him in the middle of the night, his hands under Berenger’s shirt.

“Must you continue to break into my room?” Berenger asked over a small cup of onion soup.

“I sleepwalk.” Ancel said without looking up from the video game he was playing.

“Don’t tell such an obvious lie, Strawberry!”

“Your bed is nicer.”

“Ancel.”

Ancel grinned and waited until he ran out of chances before he glanced over at Berenger and finally told the truth. “It’s too quiet here, Berry and I’m not going out even half as much or seeing different people,” Laurent and Auguste had only called him in twice more since the second interview, “and just…the darkness creeps in. I’m not used to being alone.”

“It’s kind of amazing how you are almost the exact opposite of me.” Berenger said.

“I have a lot of bad memories is all.” Ancel shrugged and went back to his game. “And as an assa—accountant, you could probably beat them to death with your calculator.”

“Just set them on fire.”

Ancel grabbed Berenger’s fingers and pulled him over to the couch. It was hard to imagine darkness in Ancel when he was delighted and laughing, leaned up against Berenger’s shoulder. “Please don’t kick me out of your room, Berry. I don’t ask for much.”

“You are the boldest liar I have ever met.” Berenger said in disbelief, taking the controller Ancel offered him. He thought of all the things Ancel had purchased with his shiny new credit card and even newer vocabulary. “You can stay…I guess. But my shirt stays on.”

“Boo.” He turned his attention away just in time to win a round of the game.

It was like that with Ancel sometimes. He would let slip something that bordered on darkness and then immediately return to light-hearted frivolity. As Berenger won the next round he felt his curiosity growing.

After all, Ancel was, in essence, a human puzzle.

 

Laurent came into Berenger’s office on Thursday after lunch with a look of business on his lovely face.

“Berenger.”

“Laurent. It’s odd to see you alone.”

He cracked a slight smile. “Damen is out dealing with his agents at the Regency. It turns out the two of them have managed to get close to infiltration.” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Those Akielons make everything look so simple…”

“You are rather ostentatious.” Berenger offered.

“I suppose even _I_ cannot bring down the Regency single-handed.”

“If anyone could, I would bet money on you. Or Lazar.”

“I’m honored. In any case, I didn’t come to discuss this case. I’m going to call Ancel tonight to ask him more about the Regency. We’re going to move against them again soon and it will be another big hit.”

“How big?” Berenger asked, wondering if even their library trip would have to postponed.

“So big that you have a job.” Laurent said, serious again. “He’s Regency and I want him dead. I’ll give you more information closer to time but it must be done. Do you think you can keep it a secret from Ancel?”

“It will be…difficult. He’s a nosy little thing and…he knows I don’t have much of a life. He’ll be suspicious if I go out. _Especially_ if I’m dressed up.”

“I’ll get you more information when I can drag Lazar away from the brute squad for more than eight goddamn seconds.” Laurent sighed. “But I doubt you’ll have to dress to the nines for this one. The mark is…not exactly a classy bastard.”

“Please tell me I am not going to a club.” Berenger begged. He thought of some of the places he had seen in photographs, shuddering at the thought of actually going inside. The noise and the crush of people alone would exhaust him in a matter of minutes.

“I’ll do my best. And I’ll try to help you come up with an excuse to be away. Just try not to pick up another double agent or your apartment might get cozy.”

It had been a while since his last job with Ancel and Berenger did not feel the calm, grim sort of focus he had had with jobs before when the entire event was like a puzzle that needed to be worked out. He was strangely disquieted at the thought of doing one of these side jobs.

The feeling abated slightly when Ancel practically ripped the door open once he had keyed in the code.

Berenger stumbled over the doorstep with a short yelp of dismay but any lingering annoyance evaporated in the face of Ancel’s sparkling excitement. He was practically dancing in place, the silk of a new painted kimono robe swishing around his ankles in a swirl of mint and teal and magenta.

“Look at how pretty it is, Berry!” Nothing put him in a better mood than expensive new clothes.

“It suits you.” Berenger said, giving the compliment genuinely.

“And it matches this too!” Ancel untied the thick cream-colored sash and yanked the robe wide open. Berenger blinked once. Ancel had found the perfect shade of magenta only this time in lace and straps that strained tight against the long lines of his body. It looked like a puzzle.

“The front door is still open.” Berenger sighed, as always amazed with how at ease Ancel was exhibiting himself…and how fucking pink his nipples were. “Aren’t you cold?”

Ancel laughed but wrapped himself back up. “You talk like my auntie. I’m filled with fire, I won’t get cold.”

Berenger shook his head as he shut the front door. Maybe if Ancel got sick he could sneak out…but no. Ancel would probably want to be babied when he was sick. “Why are you so allergic to clothes?”

“Bold words from a man who is afraid to show his stomach.”

Their banter over clothing continued over dinner until the two of them were practicing reading and writing at the living room coffee table. Ancel was trying to convince Berenger he could discern a person’s wealth just from the state of their clothes.

“I’m telling you, matching pajamas are a huge indicator.” Ancel argued. “And the watch.”

“I would disagree.” Berenger said just to be contrary. Because Ancel was right in this case. All of his pajamas were comfortable sets and his two watches—one for casual wear and one for ‘jobs’—were both heirloom.

“You can’t fool me. I’ve spent time in all the nice hotels and bars and nightclubs. I’ve stolen shit from Eclat District and I can smell conterfeit goods like bad perfume.”

“Truly you are the superhero this world deserves.”

“Just takes practice.” Ancel winked. “I used to be a beautiful fool in Viridis until I figured out that people showed off their money with their clothes. I could tell who had old money and who was nouveau-riche just on—.”

“Wait a minute, I’m confused.” Berenger thought of what he had learned of Ancel and the timelines didn’t add up. He assumed Ancel had run from his parents and been picked up by the Regency. “You lived in Viridis?” That town was known for being safe and fairly affluent; it seemed somewhat unlikely that Ancel could run into trouble there.

“Oh yeah, I lived with my aunt when my parents got put away. It was pretty sweet actually.”

“Put away?”

“Prison. Selling drugs, petty theft, small dash of neglect and child endangerment? Who would have thought that having your thirteen year-old kid sell and buy more drugs was illegal? Eh…I guess they couldn’t help what it did to them.” He stretched out his legs and Berenger was again struck by how long they were. “Anyways, the courts sent me to live with my aunt. She was so nice to me. She gave me food and my own room and bought me new clothes!” His standards must have been drastically low if that was what he considered ‘nice’. “She was going to teach me to read and she took me to do normal stuff; stuff kids are supposed to do, I think. I really…really loved being around her and she said she liked having me around. It was…”

“I’m confused.” Berenger said. “If you were so happy living with your aunt…why did you run away?”

Something very dark and fearful passed across Ancel’s freckled face. His body tensed up and Berenger resisted the urge to tug the unforgivingly long nails away from his skin.

“My aunt had a boyfriend and she really, really liked him. He was a rich dude and told her that he was gonna take care of us, he made her happy and he was…really good to her. She talked about marrying him. But,” Berenger had an idea of what was coming and he clenched himself tight as well, “he sort of watched me. You know? Not scary…just weird. He watched me move, stared at my skin, and sometimes when…” His eyes became a little vacant with memories, “when he would touch me it would—man, how do I explain this?—it would kind of… _linger_.

I just kind of ignored it at first, I mean then I wasn’t used to people loving me and hugging me and all that stuff. But um…the touches lingered more and he would try to spend time alone with me. It was weird, you know?” Berenger nodded, already understanding. “Anway, one night he and my auntie had had some wine and he came to my room after she had gone to bed and he told me what he wanted to do to me. He grabbed at me a little and told me…that if I didn't do what he wanted next time then he would leave my aunt and tell the courts she was doing a shit job of taking care of me.” Berenger held his breath. “I didn’t want him to touch me!” Ancel protested, his eyes blazing as if he had tried to defend himself for this choice a thousand times in the past. “I ran away the next night before he could touch me again and hoped…she would be happy.”

Ancel’s smile was genuine for a moment but then it soured to bitterness again. “I guess it was all fucking useless anyways. The moment I got to the city, I got picked up by my handler in the Regency and…I got fucked over anyway. At least they paid me but…sometimes I wonder if things would have been better if I had stayed with my aunt and just let him rape me.”

Berenger didn’t quite know what to say in response and Ancel laughed. “What?”

“She would have been so upset.” Berenger said and his voice sounded choked.

“What?”

Ancel’s eyes were huge and bright and, for the first time, Berenger wondered what kind of massive inner strength it took to keep himself bright after all life had put him through.

Berenger reached out to pat Ancel’s hair. “I…don’t know your aunt. But, I know she would feel terrible if she found out you had done such a thing to keep her happy.” He remembered the first time he had tried to stand between his mother and the danger and how she begged him never to do it again.

“She took me in!” Ancel protested, “I’m a pain in the ass and I didn’t want to—.”

“You are a pain in the ass. But no one should be assaulted at fourteen.”

Berenger moved forward and Ancel looked at him in confusion. “What the fuck are you doing, Berry?”

“Well, I was…going to attempt to hug you but…if you don’t want to, I won’t touch you.” He had had the impulse on a whim but now wondered if it was inappropriate, all things considered.

The air was practically knocked out of his lungs as Ancel’s head collided with his stomach. His arms were tight around Berenger’s hips and Berenger patted the very center of Ancel’s back.

“You suck at this.” Ancel mumbled against Berenger’s shirt.

“I’m finding out from you that I suck at a lot of things.” Berenger said. “But I will admit, hugging is not something I’m used to.” The voice in the back of his mind snarled at him that it was not masculine to embrace. “Please don’t cry. You’ll find tears increase the awkwardness exponentially.”

“I’m not crying. I never cry.”

“It’s not a sin to cry.” Berenger said. He felt the phantom blows on the back of his legs and the voice snarled that it was not masculine to cry either.

“It would ruin my makeup.” Ancel said, somehow gripping him tighter.

Berenger laughed in disbelief. “I have never met anyone like you in my life. You are absolutely one of a kind.”

Ancel grinned up at him, his chin resting squarely on Berenger’s navel. “If my tears could turn to diamonds, I’d cry every day. But,” he shrugged, “when it’s safe, when I can go back to see my aunt, I want to bring her a fistful of diamonds. It’s the least I can do since like the three months with her was the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Thank the gods they’re for her. Diamonds wouldn’t suit you.”

Ancel laughed and Berenger felt a fist connected with the spot where his kidneys were. “You have a really special way of crushing my dreams, you know? But…being here isn’t so bad.”

“I’m honored. Emeralds would be better.”

Though he was no expert, Berenger felt that the comforting hug had gone on long enough at this point and began to attempt to extricate himself. Ancel made a noise of protest and gripped him tighter; with more training he would have made an exemplary wrestler.

“No, no wait Berry! Can we just…a little bit longer? It makes me feel better.”

“Uhhh…sure.” He jumped as Ancel’s fingertips slid under the hem of his shirt. “Whoa, whoa! Shirts stay on during hugs, I must insist.”

“You should take your shirt off more often. I’ve never seen a pencil-pusher with pecs before.”

“I’ll suplex you into the coffee table.”

“Kinky.” Ancel rubbed his cheek against Berenger’s shirt and Berenger relaxed into the embrace a little. “Oh fuck! The rules! Sorry…”

“It’s ok…just this once.”

“You’re a good man, Berry.”

 

Berenger woke up at 6 AM and checked on Ancel.

He had left his bedroom door open as an unspoken invitation that if the nightmares came, Ancel was more than welcome to wake Berenger. Berenger knew how the nightmares could creep in after revisiting old memories.

But Ancel seemed unbothered and had remained in his own room.

He was curled up in a tiny ball under the covers, his head resting on the book of gemstones and a cube puzzle dangling at the tips of his fingers. Berenger felt something akin to fondness for a moment before he remembered their conversation from the previous night.

Then he felt a rush of anger that, for once did not feel hot or wild or out of control. He was cool and calm, but still furious in a way that was similar to the old feeling of the adrenaline he got before a job. He felt no disquiet with this.

He made a split second decision and shut the door so that he wouldn’t wake Ancel.

Berenger got his cell phone and took a deep breath before dialing the phone number he had only used a handful of times before. He hoped it was not past bedtime but the person on the other end picked up after the second ring. Berenger heard sleepy Akielon in the background.

“Lazar?”

“Berenger?” Lazar sounded wide-awake and delighted. “Are you butt-dialing me? Is this a joke? Are you sick?”

“No, no to all of those things.”

“You called too late! You missed the show!”

“Show?”

“I’ve been fucking those Akielons! Not only does this guy like reptiles, he’s got a python between his legs. Laurent must have no feeling in his ass every day if Damianos is draped like this babe.” Berenger heard the sound of a palm hitting flesh and a soft giggle.

“So sorry I missed it.” Berenger said, deadpan. “But I have a favor to ask.”

“Oooh it must be something serious if you called me for help! Go on then; I’m intrigued.”

Berenger gave him the name Ancel had told him, the name of his aunt’s boyfriend who had propositioned him and caused him to run. “Can you find out everything you can about this guy? I need to know where he is and what he’s doing.”

“Off the books?” Lazar’s tone was wicked.

“Please.”

“Fuck yeah! What’d he do, Berry? He push you into the lockers? Steal your lunch money?”

“Thank you Lazar.” Berenger was prepared to hang up but Lazar must have heard something in his tone that made Lazar be serious for a hot second. It was a rare occurrence, like seeing Laurent smile, so Berenger stayed on the line.

“What are you gonna do to him, Berenger?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

There was a long silence when Berenger wondered if he had finally put the fear of the gods into Lazar but he dissolved into laughter only a half second later. He was clearly unflappable.

“Thought so! Well…I’m sure he deserves it if he’s pissed you off. I’ll have the dirt for you in a few days but now I have to bury my balls in Akielon soil.”

“Spoken like a true poet.”

“Good night Berry!”

“Good morning Lazar.”

He hung up the phone and thought of the gun locked in the safe in his room. His index finger itched.


	12. Berenger Takes the Wrong Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
> I'm so happy you were as angry as Berenger was about Ancel's confession. But now it's back to your regularly scheduled programming of me and Lazar fucking with this poor man at every available opportunity haha!  
> He doesn't deserve this...  
> But next chapter (small spoilers) we get to see what happened to Berry. He alludes to it in this chapter but the whole story is coming out next week!  
> Stay tuned and thanks for the love!

**Berenger Takes the Wrong Drink**

The job came about a little later in the month and Laurent was as good as his word with giving Berenger a proper excuse as to why he would be gone for the better part of the night.

Ancel twisted his lips in distaste as Berenger showed him the poster he had printed out. “The fuck is this?”

“Professional development.” Berenger explained, a little disappointed that he wasn’t actually going to attend. “It’s FKAA’s annual accounting expo. This year’s theme is ethics and entrepreneurship in start-up companies and—.”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Expensive nerd convention.”

“It’s this Friday about an hour from here and it’s a great chance for networking.” Ancel looked confused and Berenger clarified. “It’s like getting to know people without sleeping with them. We usually do dinner and drinks afterwards so I might be a little late coming home Friday night. Just a head’s up that I probably won’t be joining you for dinner.”

“Expensive sushi it is.” Ancel danced a little bit at the prospect of spending someone else’s money.

“At least there’s no fire involved.”

Still, the thought of expensive sushi was enough to keep Ancel’s curiosity at bay until Berenger was actually getting dressed the morning of his hit. Berenger was able to leave home a little later since his ‘conference’ would stretch on until nighttime and Ancel was sitting on his bed, watching him. He was bleary eyed even at eleven a.m., seemingly transfixed by the way Berenger put on a charcoal gray dress shirt and styled his hair.

“You’re really pulling out all the stops for these nerds, aren’t you?” Ancel said.

The top brass Regency liked nice places, Berenger thought to himself. “It’s important to look like you have money you skimmed off the official books in these kinds of events.”

“You look good.” Ancel said candidly as he hugged his knees to his chest. As per usual, he had not seen fit to wear pants and Berenger could see the curve of his ass cheeks behind his ankles. “Why don’t you dress like this more often, Berry?”

Berenger walked past him in search of dress socks and was unable to resist ruffling Ancel’s wild red hair as he passed. “You’re the only one that looks at my clothes.”

Ancel fell back into the covers and Berenger caught that green gaze on him as he sat down to put on his socks. Even when he was tired, his eyes still flickered with fire. “I like…” Ancel paused and looked at Berenger’s chest, his adam’s apple dipping down slightly, “I like when people wear nice clothes.”

Berenger smiled down at Ancel. “Well…you’ll know it’s a special occasion then. When I wear nice clothes.” Ancel yelped, sliding deeper into the down comforter as Berenger got off the bed to get his watch.

He felt a little guilty over that falsehood as the only time he dressed up nowadays was to kill people. But he certainly wasn’t going to let Ancel know that.

Instead, he finished getting dressed and went to his closet to open the safe where he stored his work briefcase. However, he paused with his fingers above the buttons and ultimately decided against it. There was no telling what den of darkness he’d be sent to and whether or not a briefcase would be considered appropriate attire.

He left empty handed and made a note to see Jord before he left for his mission.

“I’m off,” he said to the general direction of pale limbs and red hair that had taken over his bed.

When there was no reply, he came closer to find that Ancel had seemingly fallen back asleep. He looked young and deceptively sweet, and Berenger covered up his bare legs with the sheets so he wouldn’t get cold.

A hand latched onto his fingers as he was turning to leave and Berenger looked down to see one green eye open and looking at him. “Don’t go.”

Berenger squeezed Ancel’s elegant long fingers before placing his hand back on the covers. “I’ll be back, Strawberry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was in no position to make those kinds of promises in his line of work. Even with his perfect record there was always some small chance that the next job would be the one that went terribly wrong. But he still promised, because he wanted to come back to apartment after all the terrible things were said and done.

He would leave the cold murders behind and return to where it was warm and light and smelled of vanilla candles.

 

Laurent could do a great many impressive things as Berenger had found.

Only someone with the right combination of strength, intelligence, good looks, and straight up steel testicles could survive the Regency, become a living legend and a terror in their line of work, and not only make allies of their once greatest rivals but to seduce and marry the head of the entire operation. But he could not change the nature of the Regency and the men from the Regency liked bars and nightclubs and the seedier parts of town that lurked just beyond the glitzy diamond windows of the main streets.

So, by default Berenger found himself in one of the nightclubs Laurent had said he would try to keep him out of.

Dark and packed and frenetic, it was normally the type of places that knives or poison would be best utilized but that also provided a unique set of problems. Knives and good poison were quickly felt and required close quarters to administer, but it would be hard to get away quickly in this crush of humanity.

As if to affirm ths very astute observation, someone’s elbow collided with his back and the top fourth of Berenger’s drink sloshed over the already sticky bar.

He did not even bother to turn around and look. It would only depress him.

When he did turn, he favored his left side, so that the small gun strapped to his bare flank wouldn’t brush up against anyone and cause alarm. He was going to have to shoot a man in a packed club from across the room.

The man in question was named Govart, a high-ranking enforcer in the Regency that Laurent held in particular contempt, and he was currently sitting in the VIP section over the main area of the club with a wispy young man and woman draped across either leg.

“I _love_ this song.”

“Please Lazar, it is loud enough.” Berenger hissed into his wrist, hoping that Lazar could hear him over the pounding of the bass line.

Lazar did not have eyes in the club, but he did manage to hack into the computer-operated lighting system. Berenger needed to get to the crowded balcony opposite the VIP section and tell Lazar when he was ready.

Berenger wanted to be out of the building as soon as possible. He wanted to go home to his routine. To read with Ancel on his couch while a scented candle burned. To have friendly back and forth verbal sparring over dinner. To talk in the soft darkness of his bedroom before Ancel would fall asleep and Berenger would carry him back to his bedroom.

“Ready?”

“Fuck it.” Berenger hissed and snatched the glass off the bar. He was halfway through the crush of people before he took another drink and found something thick and peach-flavored. It seemed he had grabbed the wrong drink by accident. He still took a few more sips before placing the drink on one of those high silver tables that circled the outer edges of the club.

The peach cocktail was much stronger than his watered down vodka tonic and Berenger felt the slight flush of alcohol as he climbed the stairs.

Up on the second level, Berenger could better see Govart and his little entourage: rough, imposing looking men who were clearly Govart’s associates and their slender companions.

He would have to wait until Govart was relatively separated from his group so that they wouldn’t immediately notice that he was slumped forward with a gunshot to the head. He could only steal quick glances for fear of being caught staring and flagged as suspicious and he bent his knees and swayed in the approximation of dancing.

“Think you can make the shot?”

“Yes.”

“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being me, how attractive is this fellow?”

“God, I wish we had a proper human resources department,” Berenger sighed.

“I wish I could see you dancing right now.”

“How do you know I’m dancing?”

“I can hear your bones creaking.”

Berenger did feel a great deal looser than he ever had dancing, but he was glad there were no cameras to document his dance. “Buckle in. We might be here for a while.”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of entertainment with me.” Lazar assured.

Despite Berenger’s misgivings, it was only about ten minutes before Govart’s associates dragged most of their pretty companions off while the brutish man took a phone call. Berenger kept eyes on him while the club lights flashed around him; it was disorienting.

“Lazar, he’s…fuck,” Maybe it was the music but words were coming slowly to him, “He’s alone. When I tell you, can you drop the…the lights and then have them flash up white?”

“Yeah I can do that. You all right?”

“Give me…a second.” Berenger gripped the iron balcony and tried to clear the fuzziness from his head as he withdrew his gun from his shirt. When he looked up, Govart had been left alone.

“He’s alone.” Berenger hissed into his button. He casually flipped the safety off the gun but found that his hands trembled. Something was wrong…

“Lights down in three, two…”

The lights went out as the music entered that lull when the bass dropped, shrouding Berenger’s gun in violet-black darkness. He felt a little dizzy and prayed to any god listening that Govart had not moved his head very much in the past five seconds. Some young woman in the crowd screamed in anticipation for the music’s return and Berenger’s fingers trembled around the trigger.

“ _Now_!” Lazar hissed.

The bass dropped and the lights blazed a disorienting yellow-white as the crowd roared in approval. The sound and light was such that no one noticed Berenger firing three shots across the club, one of them hitting his mark.

Govart was slumped over in his leather seat, looking like he had fallen into a deep, drunken sleep.

Berenger exhaled and the world swayed. He felt wrong and he wanted fresh air.

Luckily, in a crowd filled with drunkards, one more stumbling man didn’t register as odd. He spoke into his wrist microphone as he clumsily stuffed his gun back into the side holster. “Lazar, Lazar it’s done, I’m…done.”

“Gods, Berry you sound fucked up. Get out of there.”

“Don’t need to…tell twice. Fucking hate this…place.” People seemed to think he was about to vomit so they cleared a path and he was out of the nightclub, nearly falling to his knees once the outside air rushed into his lungs.

There was no way in hell he was drunk from a single cocktail.

Berenger was struck by the fear that the people with Govart would find him slumped over on the pavement, unable to move, so he trudged toward the street, feeling more sluggish by the moment.

“P-Poison…” He practically bit his own wrist as he spoke but Lazar must have finally taken something seriously.

A large silver food truck screeched up to the curb and Berenger barely had time to process the strange arrival before an enormous Akielon man leapt from the interior and dragged Berenger into the truck. His Akielon was quick but Berenger did catch the ‘Berry’ as he smiled; it would not matter if he hadn’t been amiable because Berenger was in no condition to fight anyone.

“Good work Pallas!” Lazar slapped the large Akielon’s ass as the truck started and they propped Berenger against a massive shelf containing Lazar’s hard drives. Berenger’s vision spun with all that was packed inside the food truck and he struggled to stay conscious.

The man Pallas, probably one of Ios’ hunters just based on the size of him, slapped Berenger’s cheeks. “We’re losing him, Lazar. Should we go to the hospital? Should I get the AED?” Berenger felt a prick of worry; if he went to the hospital then Ancel would be left alone. Who would keep him safe? “Stay awake, please.”

“….Mmmm…awake…” Berenger insisted. He felt no pain and wondered hazily which poison would take so long to kill him.

“Blood draw!” Lazar shouted and Berenger jolted as something pricked him very hard in the arm.

“F…uck…”

Pallas clicked his tongue in disapproval and placed Dord on Berenger’s chest while he went to fetch a bandage. Dord looked up at Berenger with his lazy yellow eyes, apparently unimpressed by his current state.

“Good news, it’s not poison!” Lazar shouted from the tail end of the food truck, “but you have been drugged.” When he walked back into view, he was vigorously shaking a drying litmus test that was turning a pale shade of pink. “You drink anything weird?”

Berenger thought back through a syrupy cloud of memories and latched onto it. “Cock…” The syllables came out too slowly and Lazar brightened.

“Damn, slut.”

“Fu…ck…you…it…was…wrong…dri…nk…”

It had to have been the fruity cocktail he had grabbed by accident off of the bar. Someone had drugged it so it had not been meant for him; he breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he wasn’t actively fighting for his life.

“We’re gonna get you home in any case.” Lazar said. “These kind of drugs should be out of your system in a day or so.”

“Do…rd…” Berenger groaned as the lizard dug his claws in and nearly pierced his left nipple. Everyone ignored him until the food truck screeched to a halt and Pallas took Dord off of his chest with an apologetic smile.

“Do you need me?”

“Nahhhh, I can carry Berry. Bust that shit open, babe.”

Lazar apparently had some wiry strength in his body and he hoisted Berenger out of the food truck, dragging him towards the entrance of his building. Berenger was not sure if it was helping but Lazar pulled a slightly squashed stick of cannabis from out of his back pocket and alternated between taking a drag for himself and placing it between Berenger’s lips for safekeeping whenever Lazar had to do the heavy lifting.

In any case, the buzz was hitting him as Lazar pounded on Berenger’s apartment and the door flew open.

“Berry!” Ancel ducked aside so that Lazar could come in and Berenger was limp as Ancel cradled his head. “What’s going on?”

“I think old Berry boy’s been drugged.” Lazar said cheerfully. “You mind getting the fuck out the way?” Berenger did not even try to resist as Lazar dragged him past the entryway and into the living room.

“Drugged? Poisoned?”

“It’s probably that date rape drug, Aergia.”

“Date rape? Who’d date rape Berry?” It sounded callous but Berenger understood what he was trying to say. “And at an accounting convention too…”

Berenger gave the rough approximation of a laugh as Lazar draped him across the couch. “I mean…all credit to Berry, he’s smoking hot under those argyle sweaters but I guarantee someone just wanted him impaired. Guess they didn’t know he drinks alcohol like it’s poison.”

“Why would someone impair him?” Berenger felt the cushion dip next to his head and cool fingers brushed the dark hair from his forehead.

“Beats me. Maybe he beat them at multiplication math-off. How you doing, Strawberry Slut?”

Berenger could feel Ancel’s anger thrumming through his hands and he would have told Lazar to fuck off if he had not been inhaling weed immediately after being drugged with Aergia. “I’ve been better. Why are you here anyway? Where’s your lizard?”

“Dord is with my baby daddy.” Lazar said excitedly. “And I was at nerd speed dating with Beigeberry.” The lie was so blatant, Berenger groaned in his chest. After all the planning, his cover would be blown by Lazar. “I’m just here as the designated driver. Make sure no one ravishes him, will you?”

“Fuck you!” Ancel yelled.

“You wish, ruby pubes!”

And Lazar was gone just as swiftly as he had come, Berenger finally breathing a sigh of relief.

Nurse Ancel was back a moment later and he moved quickly, his dancer’s agility serving him well as he wetted a cloth, poured hot water and warmed a glass of wine, and rifled through Berenger’s pills. Though he could not read the labels, Berenger knew it would be no issue for Ancel. He was a crafty one.

However, the moment the warm wine was pushed towards Berenger’s face, he balked.

“No.” His voice was slurred and he hated it. “No…alcohol.”

“You have to drink.” Ancel insisted and the glass collided with Berenger’s front teeth. “You gotta piss this stuff out of your system.” Berenger wondered how he knew how to handle druggings so well. Ancel must have seen his curiosity and smiled sadly. “Don’t…ask me things you don’t want to hear the answer to…”

“Thank…you.” Berenger murmured. He grudgingly sipped the wine and prayed that he would not be too fucked up come morning.

“Thank the gods you haven’t been poisoned.” Ancel said fondly as he loosened Berenger’s tie and undid the top button of his shirt. Clearly he had forgotten that he had tried to poison Berenger on their first meeting. At least the air felt good and cool on his bare chest.

“Can I…sleep?” Berenger asked. His eyelids felt like lead and he wondered if it was safe to sleep while drugged. Ancel’s fingertips massaged his temples and he closed his eyes involuntarily.

“It should be ok.” Ancel said. “I’ll take—.”

The rest was lost to Berenger as he allowed himself to pass out entirely, slipping into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, the apartment was dark, his mouth was bone dry, and he had to piss something terrible.

He rolled off the couch onto a bottle of water and took it with him to the bathroom, pissing and drinking at the same time until the bottle and his body were empty of liquid. Even though he had gotten sleep and water, the world still swayed around him and he stumbled back to the couch, unsure if he could make it to his room. In any case, all of his bedding and pillows had been pulled from his room and were piled on the couch in a heap.

As he pulled back the covers, he yelped and nearly fell backwards against his coffee table as he found Ancel inside.

“The fuck—?”

“Berry…it’s so early. What’s going on? Are you ok?” He got up to his elbows, his hair spilling like blood around his shoulders. “The drugs are they still—oh, gods you must be thirsty as hell. I-I’ll get water.”

“I already found your bottle. Thank you for that, by the way. Move over, Strawberry.”

Ancel was more than accommodating, pulling the covers up over both of their heads so that they were cocooned inside. “The drugs make you thirsty as hell and cold. If you need anything…I’ll get it for you. I tried to look up better ways to make you more comfortable but…it was hard…”

He said this with all sweetness but Berenger saw his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion. He must have been worried. “Don’t worry about it. I’m feeling…better, even…if my feet are cold.” He pressed his toes against Ancel’s bare legs and Ancel smiled and wriggled away. Berenger nudged Ancel’s cheek with his knuckle. “Thank you…for taking care of me.”

“I wanted to…” Ancel whispered. He was quiet for a little while longer until Berenger was sure he was asleep. But… “Berry?”

“Yes?”

“You weren’t at that accounting convention, were you?” Ancel said quietly confident. “You went to kill someone didn’t you?” Berenger must have looked momentarily suspicious because Ancel amended. “You smelled like perfume and cigarettes. And they use Aergia in clubs. Cocktails mask the taste.”

It was no use; he was too quick. “Yeah…you’re right.”

“Was he Regency?”

“Govart…I killed him.” Berenger said. Ancel’s eyes were enormous and Berenger had to ask. “Did you know him?”

“I knew him.” Ancel whispered and Berenger could not place his emotion.

Berenger extended all his strength to reach out his hand and move the hair from Ancel’s eyes. It was so soft and Ancel touched his fingers to Berenger’s wrist. Oddly enough, he did not mind. “Did he hurt you?”

“Yes. He hurt…everyone.”

“He’s dead now.”

“I can’t believe you went to a club.” Ancel laughed softly before shimmying closer and Berenger was happy for the heat of his freckled skin. “Berry…is it difficult to kill people?” He was not demanding or beguiling, just curious. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

“No. It’s not. Not as difficult as what you’ve been through, I would think…”

Ancel rested his fingernails lightly against Berenger’s knuckles. “It was difficult but…after a while you kind of learn what to shut off…you know?”

Berenger knew.

He remembered the smooth wood of his father’s rifle pressed against his cheek and the sinking feeling in his gut as he pulled the trigger. Something small and precious inside of him had died when he shot that gun.

He did not know what had kept Ancel burning so bright after years of torture and degredation. He only knew what it was that kept him sane venturing back into that darkness that had swallowed so many innocents: he had known far worse.

He would go into a thousand brothels and clubs and hotels, kill a thousand Regency men before he set one foot back into his childhood home.

 


	13. Berenger Has a Deep Dark Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends and welcome back!  
> Things are moving along swimmingly and since I'm now in the process of writing the final arc of this story, I am getting a lot of action down fast! This is probably the beginning part of this final arc so some heavy stuff is going down.  
> I promised you Berry's tragic backstory and I am here to deliver! So TW: for past physical abuse. Now you'll all know why Berenger doesn't drink so much alcohol and why he's a good shot and why he doesn't want to go 'home' ever. This poor man does not deserve the hell I put him through.  
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! (Especially Berenger being jealous; I love him being protective and jealous!)

**Berenger Has a Deep Dark Secret**

Word got around quickly in the ‘Veretian Blind’ thanks to Lazar, and Berenger was welcomed back to work with cheers for having spared some poor, young thing from being date raped at the club. Auguste came in with eyes sparkling in good humor as he asked about the entire ordeal.

“How does this always happen to _you_?”

“Ask your brother. He keeps sending me to clubs.” Berenger said, smiling as he packed up his things for the day.

“You’re leaving awfully early today.” Auguste noted. “Something exciting planned for tonight?”

“Hardly.” Berenger said. “Most likely another documentary on fashion or the jewelry-making process.”

Ancel had been obsessed with them recently, watching one or another on repeat with the subtitles on so he could recognize certain brand names. As much as Berenger didn’t understand, he liked to watch Ancel read the text on screen with a kind of religious fervor, his eyes lighting up like the gems he craved. It had become something of their habit after dinner, to sit together and watch documentaries or race each other in solving sudoku puzzles before Berenger went to bed.

He wanted to get home sooner rather than later to keep from ruffling Ancel’s feathers. He was lonely and Berenger found himself unhappy when Ancel was. His emotions were infectious.

But he couldn’t manage to explain that to Auguste in such a short time.

Auguste was laughing in any case. “He is something else. When all of this is settled with the Regency, we ought to put him as an informant in some glitzy Patran jewelry store. He’s got the motor mouth to sell, plus the Patrans would like his coloring and his legs.”

Berenger thought that it would suit Ancel but the handsy Patrans were off-putting. “Don’t whore him out.”

“Never.” Auguste promised and Berenger knew he meant it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Berry.” The name was catching on.

He was home about a half hour later and Ancel was practically dancing in place in the entryway, his toenails shining minty green. Berenger wondered what Ancel would do if he tossed birdseed at his feet.

“Berry!” Ancel said, his face lighting up with excitement, “I made croquettes.”

“I saw your texts.” Berenger said slipping off his shoes and sidestepping Ancel. “How many did you make? It looked like enough to feed six people.”

Ancel had in fact made about thirty croquettes, experimenting liberally with meats, vegetables, cheeses, and potatoes, and Berenger ate five of them for dinner with a small side salad; the rest to be refrigerated and saved for the next three lunches. Ancel had eaten three and was now poking at his flat stomach.

“You look fine.” Berenger assured him.

Ancel blushed at being caught but mad a quick, if alarming recovery. “Force of habit. If our handlers found out we gained weight, they wouldn’t let us eat until we lost it.” He said it so lightly even though Berenger shuddered at the casual cruelty of it.

Ancel would more often now casually mention aspects of his former life that Berenger found horrifying. He thought nothing at all of baring his soul and laughing at the things he had survived.

The moment Ancel had felt comfortable talking about himself and asking Berenger more questions about himself, Berenger knew it was only a matter of time before Ancel asked the right questions.

After a lot of thinking in the early mornings while he brewed coffee and checked in occasionally to see that Ancel was still sleeping peacefully, Berenger decided he would tell Ancel the truth. He would leave out specifics, but he wanted the young man to know that he understood some things. Some very dark things.

He did not expect it to come only a few days later.

The catalyst came after they had finished the last of the croquettes and Ancel pranced into the living room to join Berenger. A small part of Berenger knew he was fucked when he saw that Ancel carried wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

Typical Ancel, he did not even wait long enough for Berenger to lodge a protest before he uncorked the wine and poured one glass.

“None for me thank you.” He said and nearly laughed at Ancel’s pout.

“Berry.”

“No Strawberry, it’ll either go down the sink or your throat. You pick.”

Ancel glared at him as he abandoned the empty wine glass and drank from the one that was full. Berenger watched the length of his elegant white neck as he swallowed the wine.

“Why don’t you ever drink?” Ancel asked innocently when he caught his breath. “You have such an amazing collection of wines too. It seems like a waste not to drink them if you bought them in the first place.”

“Most of them were gifts.” Berenger admitted.

“Even so.” Ancel took another long sip and he must have enjoyed the second taste even more because his eyes fluttered a little. “I haven’t seen you drink any alcohol since the first night we met.” Almost half a year ago it had been and Berenger now looked back on the memory with fondness and amazement.

“I drink to blend in at bars.” Berenger shrugged. “But not strong drinks and never enough to lose my senses.”

“You’ve _never_ been drunk?”

“Never. I…I am nervous about losing control of myself.”

“Do you spill your secrets?” Ancel asked, clearly joking. “Or do you pick fights? You seemed fine when you were spiked with Aergia.” Berenger felt cold panic swirl in his throat.

“I am afraid…I will do something terrible.”

Ancel must have been sensitive to the consternation in his tone because he set the wine glass down on the coffee table and inched closer to Berenger. “I mean…you don’t have to drink, Berry. I mean I’m not complaining. It just means more alcohol for me. But gods, you’re the most chill and controlled guy I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine you starting a bar fight.”

“I just don’t to hurt y—anyone.” Berenger desperately wanted a change of subject but he had the sinking feeling that Ancel would not be so easily deterred. True to form, Ancel ducked his head so that Berenger could not avoid his gaze.

“You wouldn’t hurt me. I mean, yeah you say some stupid shit sometimes but I’ve never felt unsafe around you.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know me.” Berenger saw hurt take hold in those green eyes and felt instant regret. “Shit, no. No, you’re right, I say stupid things without thinking. I didn’t mean that.”

“Well…tell me about you then.” Ancel insisted. “I want to know more about you Berry.”

Berenger smiled at him, feeling something dark welling up inside his throat. “I may actually need alcohol to talk about anything unrelated to work.”

“I hadn’t noticed you enjoyed your work.” Ancel said sarcastically, handing over his half-empty wine glass. Berenger took it and downed the rest of the glass; it was a very good wine—he hated that he loved it—and he refilled it immediately. “I thought you said you didn’t drink—fuck, save some for me.” Ancel snatched back the glass as Berenger drank another half.

“That was all I needed. The rest is for you.” The alcohol suffused warm in his stomach as he watched Ancel’s delicate collarbones push against his skin as he drank. “What do you want to know?”

“Why do you like being alone?”

“What’s wrong with being alone?” Berenger asked. It honestly had been quite some time since he had been alone. Even in the office, Ancel called and texted him constantly.

“Are you going to fucking answer or are you just going to ask me more questions?” Ancel threw up his hands in frustration and Berenger watched the wine almost slosh over the rim of the glass.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Berenger couldn’t help but laugh at Ancel’s blazing determination. “I’ll be serious. Anything you ask, within reason.”

“Ok.” Ancel seemed placated and for a moment his eyes were so wide and innocent looking that Berenger forgot what a firecracker he was.

“I guess…I just never learned how to be extremely sociable. I did a lot of things on my own growing up and it just kind of stuck.”

“You didn’t have any friends? No siblings? Nothing?”

“Nope. Just horses and books.”

“And me with baggies of drugs and circus performers for friends.” Ancel said as if he could not believe two people had ever been so dramatically lonely as children.

“We would have gotten along swimmingly.” Berenger joked.

“Really?”

“No, I was very uncool and quiet. I wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”

“Very few people do. Your life sounds like something out an old Veretian story.” Ancel said, shaking his head. “Big lonely house up in the mountains, no brothers or sisters or friends but lots of books and horses; just you.” All that was missing was the monster, Berenger thought to himself as the cold crept in. It was the next logical question and he dreaded it.

“You would like it up there.” No diamond lights of the city, but there were real gemstones in the safe. He was stalling for time.

Ancel looked at him and grinned. “I think I would.” The lull of silence where he considered his next question, moved to the next logical thing, hung heavy in the air. “What about your parents? What were they like?”

There it was.

The wine soured in Berenger’s stomach and he looked at the ceiling. “Ahhh…”

“Berry, you ok?” Ancel asked. He sounded nervous.

“Give me a moment.” Berenger said. He just needed a second or two to muster up the courage. He wanted to tell Ancel. He knew a lot of Ancel’s secrets and this would not give anything away about his job. Maybe it would be therapeutic…

Berenger took a deep breath before slipping back into the memories he had kept carefully shuttered away.

They were dark and bitter as liquor; he drowned in the anger and humilation and fear. But he kept his voice level as he spoke of…everything.

 

Berenger’s father was an abusive man.

It did not occur to him until he was much older that many wealthy men were secretly abusive behind their sleek public facades. As a child, he simply knew to fear his father’s mercurial moods.

After a certain age, he could not be caught reading, doing puzzles, enjoying math, or doing anything that could be construed as unmasculine or weak. Friends were discouraged unless they were from a finer family or if Berenger could best them at sports. He lived in terror of his father discovering his late night readings or his stash of puzzles, because the next day he would find the ashes of them in the fireplace and his father would call him into his study so that he could be subjected to an hour of angry lectures while his father drank.

If the constant emotional and verbal abuse Berenger was constantly subjected to was bad, his mother had it even worse.

He physically shuddered as he thought of the long nights of his life.

The creak of the stairs under the staggering, drunken weight, the sound of raised voices, the heavy, stifling darkness of his bedroom closet, and the warm smell of horses and hay in the stables—a small comfort for when his mother told him to run and hide.

When he had been unable to get outside the house, even worse things haunted him. Inevitably, the arguing would escalate into screams and then the sound of thuds and crashes.

The deep, black bitterness, helplessness, and shame he felt while his father screamed at him was absolutely nothing in comparison to what he felt when he saw the black eyes and split lips, the limps and broken bones.

As a teenager, he had once tried to stop his father and gotten himself a black eye for his interference and his mother had begged him not to get involved again. She was terrified of the collection of guns and an escalation to the already violent physical abuse. Berenger had stayed hidden and silent, only becoming strong and brave enough to stop everything when it was too late.

“What happened to him?”

Berenger looked up, having forgotten that he was speaking aloud, much less that he had an audience. Ancel was holding both of his hands and his green eyes were wide with concern. “What do you mean?” He asked, feeling the tension leaving him slowly. He began to uncoil.

“What happened to your father?” Ancel asked. “Did you…did you kill him?”

“You really think I’d kill my own father?” Berenger laughed in disbelief over this first question.

Ancel’s thumb rubbed his knuckle. “It’s…hard to say in our line of work. You never really know what someone is capable of.” Berenger squeezed Ancel’s hands in response, hopefully reassuring him.

“No. No I didn’t kill him though…sometimes I wish I had. He had cirhosis of the liver. I guess the only thing he loved killed him in the end. Poetic, isn’t it?” He said this wryly, remembering all his teenaged fantasies of pushing his father down the stairs and kicking him repeatedly in the ribs until he pissed blood.

“It doesn’t rhyme.” Ancel said in confusion.

Berenger felt for a moment that he could have kissed Ancel for his blithe humor as his laughter banished some of the demons. “I’ll read you proper poetry sometime. But no…he’s dead now and…I am happy for it.”

“And your mother?”

Berenger paused, allowing regret to wash over him.

He was unsure if he wanted to share this with Ancel; he had not told anyone and speaking it took a great deal of effort. “I think…the doctors said that too many blows to the head over time caused the damage.” He had put his mother up in a lakeside retreat in the mountains with all the comfort and nurses his substantial inheritance could provide. He visited her twice a year until she wasted away, but by then she no longer recognized him or knew his name.

He could not forgive his father for that either. He had been unable to do anything.

Ancel pitched forward so that his arms were wrapped around Berenger’s waist and his fluffy red bun smacked Berenger in the chin. “Don’t…don’t be sad Berry. You were just a little kid. You…did your best.”

Berenger patted the soft red bun. “But now you understand, don’t you? Why I don’t want to drink?” He had been alarmed on his first drink of alcohol of how easily it went down, of how good it tasted. He could not love it. “I don’t want to…I don’t want to find that I grow angry and hurt people when I have too much.” He might as well have said it aloud: _I am afraid of becoming my father_.

“You won’t.” Ancel whispered. “You’re so gentle. You’re nothing like all the violent guys I’ve met.”

Berenger remembered the man outside the bar who had gripped Ancel’s arm and thrown him to the ground. He would never forgive himself if he were to…

“I murder people for a living.” Berenger said bluntly.

“You’re an _accountant_.” Ancel scoffed. “You just happen to be a good shot. Sort of like how I’m supposed to be a wealthy person but I’m just very good at seducing people.” He grinned wide and pretty, and it was infectious, Berenger smiling back as he surveyed Ancel’s face.

He would confess to Ancel later but it was his father who had taught him how to shoot so well. Though his father had swelled with pride that Berenger took to it so naturally, Berenger had gotten countless screaming lectures about hesitating or crying when he had been forced to shoot a bird from the sky or a stag drinking in their forest. He hated destroying beautiful things.

In his early days of killing men, Berenger disassociated himself from the act by imagining his father’s face on his target’s body.

Ancel drew back, though his hands remained on Berenger’s waist. “You’re not like him.” His emerald eyes were downcast for a moment and Berenger noticed that his eyelashes were auburn without mascara. “I used to think that wealthy people lived a life of ease and happiness but…it’s not always the case. Still sucks when they look down on me though.”

Berenger wondered idly then what it would have been like to bring Ancel to his home.

The mountain chateau still in his possession but never visited oozed old money and class, which Ancel would have loved. Berenger could see his fingers dancing across the curves of the carved wood, the antique ivory, the dusty facets of his mother’s heirloom jewelry. He would be all fire and light and aggressive happiness in the old, joyless halls.

His father would no doubt have called Ancel a number of terrible things to his face— _golddigger, slut, whore_ —and Berenger found that some of the hot, acidic anger he always feared was bubbling up in his chest at the thought. Someone like his father had no business laying their judgment on Ancel and he would pistol whip anyone who thought otherwise.

“Let me know if anyone does. I’ll get you taller shoes.”

“If you ever end up taking me anywhere, I will.” Ancel replied, blushing.

Berenger debated on telling Ancel the rest of the story: how he had studied mathematics and contacted his acquaintance Auguste to see if anyone was in desperate need of an accountant. Then how there had been two men attempting to kill Auguste and Berenger fired three rounds into the two of them before they had even raised their guns completely.

A month of training in recon and escape and Berenger had his secondary position moonlighting as an assassin.

However, he decided for the sake of his mission to save that particular tale for another time. He leaned forward slowly to give Ancel a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Strawberry.”

“Don’t be weird about it.” Ancel laughed breathily and Berenger eased up his grip in case he was embracing him too hard. But then he whispered in Berenger’s ear and his voice was gentle and full of feeling. “You’re the best and kindest man I’ve ever known. You’re nothing like…him.”

The assurance meant the world to him and Berenger leaned his head gently into Ancel’s collarbone. He smelled of jasmine and vanilla.

 

That night Berenger dreamt of his father, as if simply speaking of his memories had brought the man’s ghost back to haunt him. It was clear sleep was going to come in snatches so he simply tried to relax and meditate the ill omens away.

He slept lightly and felt a warm glow in the center of his chest as Ancel slipped silently into bed next to him. As Ancel errantly whispered the last few sentences he had read before turning in for the night, Berenger felt the glow intensify, the feeling of calm and content making his limbs light.

When he heard the steady pace of Ancel’s breath, Berenger sat up slowly and lit one of the dozen candles Ancel had steadily sneaked in his room over the course of a month. He turned back to his bed if only to settle himself.

There was somewhat of an opposite reaction.

Berenger smiled unconsciously as he took in his familiar bedmate.

Ancel, with his long limbs everywhere, his sleeping shirt slipping down his shoulder, his red hair taking command of most of the pillows and Ancel’s face. He looked like one of those models that made dishevelment look effortless and lovely.

Using his lightest touch, Berenger tugged Ancel’s shirt up higher on his shoulder and pushed some of the soft red hair behind his ear. Ancel sighed contentedly and nuzzled deeper into the pillow, essentially ruining Berenger’s attempts to clear the hair from his face.

He left the candle burning, finding the soft orange glow calming and when Ancel rolled over, tossing one arm across Berenger’s abs, he didn’t move to push him away. He could not remember the last time he had welcomed physical contact with another person.

He nodded off with that warm, red form glued to his side.

When he woke up, the room was bathed in the peachy-lavender glow of sunrise. The candle to his right was flickering desperately as the stumpy wick drowned in a half inch of melted vanilla wax. Ancel had managed to slip his free arm under Berenger’s back and now Berenger’s shirt was bunched up around his chest.

Berenger looked sleepily down at his red octopus of a roommate and patted Ancel’s soft hair to lull himself back to sleep.

 


	14. Berenger Has a Small Lapse in Judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh my god! Not only are there only about 4 chapters left in this story, the next ones were some of my favorite to write! There's so much action going on!  
> Also no agent should ever do this without wanting to get chewed out by his bosses (Berry is a special case since, in this AU Laurent married the boss of his competitors)! And all along he's had this fixation with Ancel's nipples...glad he finally gets to see them up close and personal ;)  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Has a Small Lapse in Judgment**

“We’re close.” Auguste said, gripping the edge of the table as if to showcase his intensity. “We’re so close that we plan to strike again in less than a week.”

It was a very important meeting. 

All the important people from Ios were there: Damianos, Nikandros, Jokaste, their brilliant director of agents, and Makedon, the head of the hunters or the ‘brute squad’ as Laurent liked to call them. Not only that, everyone important from Arles was present, even Lazar having been called in for a rare day in the office. Instead of files or a computer in front of him, he had brought only a pile of kale and sweet potato for Dord to munch on. 

It was a momentous occasion because, according to Auguste and Laurent, they were only two or three raids away from getting to the top brass of the Regency, sending the entire rotten structure crumbling to dust.

And Ancel was mostly to blame for their downfall. 

“Virgo and Scorpio have infiltrated one of the main branches here in the city and they’re sending raw data to Lazar as we speak.” Jokaste said in her poisonously sweet voice. “Soon we’ll have a complete layout and body count.”

“We’ll need all hands on deck then.” Laurent said, nodding. “Berry you too. We’ll have Jord outfit you with a rifle.”

Berenger nodded in assent even though he was not fond of rifles. He never missed though. 

The rest of the meeting was mostly tactical discussions and delegation of tasks, so Berenger was not active in the rest of the meeting. He only paused to stay behind at the very end when Laurent and Auguste waved him over for a private talk while the rest of the members were leaving. 

“It’s been over six months and we haven’t seen any grunts from the Regency snooping around in your area.” Auguste began, still fired up from the contents of the meeting and the prospect of destroying his uncle. 

“We’re going to begin taking the guards out of your lobby in shifts, hopefully eliminating the need for them entirely.” Laurent explained. “It’s still not safe for him to go out by himself but maybe by the end of the year…”

“He’d probably kiss you for that.” Berenger admitted, readjusting his glasses.

He said this with an even tone, but suddenly the world seemed to open up in front of him. He began to consider all the places he could go with Ancel: the conservatory wih its’ glossy emerald plants, the museum’s impressive gem collection, the restaurant on the top floor of the highest skyscraper. He could imagine Ancel blazing free in the city and it made him smile. 

“Hard pass.” Laurent said and watched carefully as Berenger began to put all his unfinished files into his battered briefcase. “You’re leaving already? It’s only three P.M. Usually we have to boot you out of the office.”

“I came in early today.” Berenger said. “And if this next raid will be as intense as you say…I want to prepare.” He also wanted to tell Ancel the good news, but he would refrain until Laurent and Auguste told him it was safe. Ancel would surely become insufferable with cabin fever if he found out freedom was so close. 

But he would be happy to see Berenger home so early.

Laurent gave him a searching look before waving him away, clearly moving on to the next order of business. “Sounds good. We’ll see you tomorrow Berenger.”

 

Over dinner that night, Ancel sent Berenger walls of texts, just to prove that he could now write and read more complex sentences including, but not limited to: ‘Emergency. There is a fire in the apartment,’ ‘What time will you be home,’ ‘Berry has a stick in his ass’ and ‘the cleavage of an emerald is 3,1—basal’. He had no idea what the last one meant but he was proud all the same.

“You’ll be ready for a 9-to-5 before you know it.” Berenger joked, once again imagining Ancel behind a jewelry counter, slipping bangles into his pockets when no one was looking.

Ancel grinned at him like he was thinking about the exact same thing.

Still the thought of Ancel going out into the world, unleashing his particular brand of madness on unsuspecting shoppers, stayed with Berenger even after the two of them were lying quiet and still on Berenger’s bed attempting to fall asleep. For some reason, Berenger was unusually keyed up and he broke the silence first.

“Strawberry.”

Ancel turned swiftly as if he had been waiting for Berenger to talk to him. “Berry.”

“Do you ever think about life after this?” Berenger asked before he lost his nerve. Discussing the fantasies of an unpromised future was a dangerous game and he felt his heart palpitate accordingly. 

“Of course,” Ancel said immediately. “We used to dream about it all the time, back at the Regency. Where we’d go, what we’d buy, a lot of us never had anything like freedom to decide what to do with our lives.” His tone changed abruptly from sweetly dreamlike to slightly nervous. “It seems so… _ daunting _ now that it’s actually a possibility.”

Berenger knew Ancel would go back to his aunt, to find her and form the relationship they deserved to have but he could not imagine Ancel outside the city. Small towns could not contain his fire.

“Where do you think you’d want to live?” Berenger prompted, hoping that by asking simple questions to begin with, the future would seem less intimidating. 

He saw Ancel’s eyes shimmer as he blinked and his tone was surprised. “I…I thought…I thought I could stay with you.”

Berenger was so surprised, he was at a loss for words for a moment. 

Ancel must have taken it as Berenger’s distaste for the idea because he started speaking again with scarcely a breath in between words. “I know you were forced into it—and I mean, I get it, I’m not the easiest roommate to get along with—but I  _ like _ living with you and I think we get along pretty well, all things considered. And I feel…safe with you here Berry. When I think about what I’m going to do after all of this, I always imagine myself here. With you.” Berenger was so stunned at this he was once again at a loss for words. “Do you not want that?”

How quickly the innocent conversation had turned to something so heavy and full of feeling, but that was Ancel’s style: soft and flickering at one moment, before blazing out of control the next. He needed time to consider his feelings and put them into words.

But the more he thought of his future, the more he liked the idea of having Ancel as a constant in his life. Once again he took too long. 

“Do you not want me?” Ancel was hurtling towards something heavy and important at the speed of sound and Berenger struggled to comprehend if he was ready or not. As if Ancel had ever waited for him before.

“ _ Ancel _ .”

“Do you think I’m filthy?” Ancel whispered and Berenger felt something akin to pain in his breast. Ancel’s tone was quiet and ashamed, so unlike his normal fire, and Berenger did not like it. He felt his fingertips connect with Ancel’s hand. “I used to be a whore for fuck’s sake. All the things I did, I—.”

Berenger squeezed his fingers softly in hopes of stopping Ancel’s concerns. “You’re  _ beautiful _ .” He meant it.

He had no idea when it had happened, but he found Ancel beautiful. 

Berenger liked his soft hair, his long legs, and when his eyes flashed green with fiery determination. Also endearing were his countless freckles, his sharp tongue, the way he danced, the intensity that blazed over him whenever he was presented with a puzzle, his thousand-kilowatt smile. Berenger thought of all these many facets of Ancel and he found them all beautiful. 

“You mean it?” Ancel’s eyes shimmered in the dark and his tone was suffused with the sweetest bit of hopefulness. “I thought you…” 

Berenger knew what he was thinking and could hardly blame him for it.  He was not the best at giving compliments and his negative reactions during their first few weeks together would probably deter even the cockiest of escorts. 

“I’m the fucking worst at this.” Berenger whispered in exact mimcry of Ancel’s constant complaint. 

Ancel must have appreciated his humor. 

His appreciation was such that—in the span of a half a second—Berenger felt a heavy weight saddled securely on his abdomen and he found himself looking up at Ancel’s beautiful face. And then Ancel was peppering kisses across his face, his beautifully manicured nails resting light on Berenger’s cheekbones. 

Berenger started to laugh and before he could kiss back, Ancel pulled away in confusion. “Why are you laughing?”

“You kiss so sweetly. I thought you would try to taste the back of my throat.”

Ancel laughed with him this time and Berenger could tell it was with relief. He was nervous and all the sweeter for it. “I’m trying not to scare you with my astonishing skills. What do you think I am, some kind of animal?”

Berenger sat up a little to kiss the tip of Ancel’s nose. “No. You’re a Strawberry.”

Ancel descended on him again, lips more insistent this time as Berenger tried to keep up with him. He was a good kisser and Berenger’s experience was…minimal to say the least. Only someone truly skilled could insult Berenger so well as he kissed him. “You bastard…I thought you…hated me…I thought you…thought I was…annoying and…stupid and…tacky.” He tasted like dessert wine. 

“You’re not stupid.” He was shivering a little as he kissed the freckled constellations on Ancel’s neck. “And you are annoying and tacky but I like it.”

Ancel collapsed into the crook of Berenger’s neck, giggling as if he could not believe it. “And you’re a nerdy, underdressed homebody.”

“Light a candle.” Berenger insisted. “I want to see you.”

The furious blush had not faded from Ancel’s cheeks by the time the candle was lit and Berenger errantly wondered if this was the first kiss Ancel had shared with someone he truly liked. Unable to help himself, Berenger dug his hands into Ancel’s thick red hair. He tilted Ancel’s head gently to see him from all angles.

“You are stunning. I can’t believe you like me.”

“I do.” Ancel whispered. “Look at me all you want.”

Berenger was finally glad Ancel wore sheer shirts and tiny shorts to bed. Even with all his clothes on, Berenger could still see the near hourglass curve of his waist; also worthy of attention were his beautiful, slim fingers, his delicate collarbones, and all the red-brown speckles scattered across vast swathes of his bare skin. 

Berenger was so enchanted with the sight of him that it took him a moment to draw up the courage to actually touch Ancel in more places than his soft, red hair.

But it seemed Ancel had no such reservations. 

Ancel ran gentle hands over the crotch of Berenger’s pants, so different from his groping the first night they met. Berenger shuddered in dismay and Ancel stopped attempting to stroke him.

“Berry?” 

He sounded nervous and Berenger could hardly blame him. He was used to using sex and beauty as a weapon and now he found himself disarmed. He was hardly to blame for it.

“Ancel.” He whispered, stroking Ancel’s silken soft cheek, “It’s not you, I swear. I just…I’m nervous when I get intimate with anyone—including myself. Actually…it’s only been myself. And I get so nervous that I…can’t.” He was past being embarrassed, knowing that it was probably due to a mental dysfunction, another lovely side effect from his traumatic childhood, no doubt. “I haven’t in months…years.”

“You’re a  _ virgin _ ?”

Berenger knew he must have been as scarlet as Ancel’s hair. “Yes, I am.” He was nervous about intimacy, awkward and shy. Not to mention the consistent, paralyzing fear that he might hurt someone he loved.

It must have shown on his face.

“Berenger…”

He felt something like shame for the first time in a long time. “I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s ok…” Ancel whispered, curling a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ve just…never slept with anyone who didn’t want to shove his dick in my mouth.”

“I—let’s just take it slow.” Berenger was shocked by his candor and surprised to find that he was angry thinking of Ancel’s former clients. “Over time I think I could but…you just have to woo me.”

Ancel twisted his lips at not getting what he wanted at the swipe of a credit card or a sultry smile. “How slow are we talking?”

He yelped as Berenger executed a roll that the Akielons had taught him in their self-defense classes. The pillows cushioned Ancel’s fall and Berenger very nearly laughed at the shock in Ancel’s wide eyes and the way his long limbs splayed in all directions. He liked looking down at the young man for once. 

“For now do you mind if I spoil you?”

Ancel sank deep into the bed, his smile like someone had just offered him the crown jewels of Vere. “Wow me Berry.”

It was all bravado; Berenger’s hands shook as he kissed Ancel and ran his hands lightly over the soft skin of Ancel’s jaw and neck. They had almost graduated to full-on tremors by the time he had slid his hands down Ancel’s endless torso and gripped the hem of his shirt. 

Ancel sat up, quick as lightning, shucking his shirt off as if it was burning him before he yanked Berenger’s shirt off in a much less dignified motion. Berenger was sure his hair would be sticking up in all directions, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on that fact. 

Berenger jolted as Ancel traced the hard lines of his abdomen, lips wetted and eyes shining. 

“You like my stomach?” Berenger was intrigued by the idea, remembering that Ancel was always coaxing him to take off his shirts or wear tighter ones.

“ _ Yes _ .”

Berenger could offer the same compliment to Ancel. 

His stomach was long and lean, the lines of his muscle giving his stomach an hourglass shape. His hips and chest were dotted with ever more freckles and Berenger’s hands stopped shaking as he surveyed Ancel’s chest.

Ancel allowed himself to be eased back onto the mattress when Berenger ran hands over his chest, making sure to trace the edges. He didn’t trust himself with nipples just yet. 

Fat, glossy things. Inverted, he had found out from an internet search after his curiosity had gotten the best of him. 

When he finally got the nerve to slide his fingers over them, he felt a tingle on his skin as Ancel shuddered.

They were soft and Ancel wiggled again when Berenger touched them a second time, a third time, several times before he let the pads of his thumbs rest on them. 

“Your nipples are so goddamn pink.” Berenger hissed to himself, just as transfixed by them as the first time he saw them. After so much touching they looked even more obscene, like something a smut artist would paint. He pinched one gently and again felt the tingle in his stomach as Ancel shuddered. “Do you like to have them played with?” He asked, softly pinching it again in hopes the tip of the nipple would be pushed out.  

“No one has ever—.” Ancel’s teeth were chattering with his shivers and Berenger felt something like indignation rising up inside him.

“What a waste.” He intended to remedy this oversight immediately and kissed the downy flesh of Ancel’s left nipple. He was nervous as hell but he could feel Ancel’s racing heartbeat through the skin of his chest so he was in good company with that emotion. 

Unsure of exactly what was the next best course of action—but having spent enough time listening to Lazar chatter his filth—Berenger opened his mouth and suckled lightly on Ancel’s nipple.

Ancel whimpered through clenched teeth, a sound that might have been uttered in pain if he had not arched his back up, getting as close as he he could to Berenger’s mouth. Berenger was simply glad that whatever he was doing with his inexperienced tongue was giving Ancel any pleasure at all.

He sucked it gently, jabbing the tip of his tongue into the soft flesh in hopes of finding the tip of Ancel’s nipple and coaxing it out. He was so focused he hardly noticed as Ancel wailed and rubbed his crotch against Berenger’s legs. 

As he sucked a little harder, Berenger felt Ancel squeal and something hard rested against Berenger’s tongue.

He pulled back in amazement, finding Ancel shuddering and near drooling from his attentions and the left nipple nearly red, but finally peaking out. “Amazing,” he whispered, rubbing it gently between thumb and forefinger as Ancel writhed. There was a wet spot high on Berenger’s pajamas. “Should I do the other one as well?”

“Do whatever you want,” Ancel gasped.

Berenger paused. 

Ancel had probably told his clients a similar thing, letting them do as they liked to his body. He kissed tip of Ancel’s nose and both of his eyelids. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes, goddamn it Berry, yes I want you to!”

And Berenger very nearly broke his nose on Ancel’s breastbone as the young man pushed his face towards the other nipple. 

Berenger was more than happy to see to this one as well and—since his practice with the first—he could suck out the second nipple at his leisure. He noticed with soft, wicked joy that Ancel wailed particularly loud when he tried to wiggle his tongue down in. He was able to flick the nipple out with the tip of his tongue as Ancel dug his feet into Berenger’s calves.

When both nipples were swollen and and standing stiff and Ancel’s shorts needed to be removed before he soaked the sheets, Berenger sat back on his heels to survey his handiwork. 

Ancel’s long legs were splayed wide open, a healthy pink flush over most of his pale skin. He was still trembling and he was gripping the pillow in a way that made Berenger think that Ancel had not been faking his pleasure. Ancel whimpered as Berenger slowly removed his silk underwear and took in this new view. 

The carpet matched the drapes.

Ancel had an impeccably groomed little triangle of red hair between his legs and his cock—much like the rest of his pallor—ran to whites and pinks. Slick as it was from pleasure, it reminded Berenger of candy or a glossy piece of fruit. It was just as frustrating as Ancel’s nipples, since Berenger knew he wouldn’t be able to get the image of it out of his mind.

Out of nowhere, Berenger wondered if Ancel’s asshole was a similar color. 

“ _ What _ ?” Ancel gasped as if he could hear Berenger’s thoughts. 

“You’re even prettier with your clothes off.” Berenger responded immediately, pleased when Ancel blushed even darker. “I can see now that lingerie suits you. We’ll have to get you more of it.”

Ancel looked at him in disbelief before covering his face with his hands and laughing in delight.

He did not notice as Berenger kissed the slender, freckled crests of his hipbones, dreaming of Ancel in a rainbow of silks and laces and nylons. The kisses trailed lower so that Berenger could feel the wiry red hair against his cheek and he imagined Ancel naked in the jewelry at his ancestral home: the ropes of pink pearls, the 7-carat aquamarine earrings, the priceless green diamond ring, and emeralds, all the emeralds he owned.

Ancel only snapped to attention once Berenger kissed the pale pink tip of his cock. “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Solving a math problem.” Berenger replied sarcastically.

“I’m not—you don’t have to!” Ancel sputtered. “I-It’s… _ dirty _ .”

“It looks sweet.” Berenger argued softly before going back to what he had been doing before: figuring out how to suck cock. 

He had never given much thought as to how it would be done but he could not help but think of something sweet when he saw that glossy pink. He lapped the length of it several times—surprised, but not disgusted, at the taste—gently pushing Ancel’s thigh down to get a better angle. A few things made sense: as sensitive as a cock was, surely the tongue and soft walls of the mouth would feel best, and he took gentle care to avoid any contact with his teeth. 

It still took him a few tries before he felt comfortable taking Ancel inside his mouth. 

He felt Ancel’s cries through his tongue but was far too focused on seeing how much of it he could suck at one time. He counted, the numbers feeling good and full in his chest. 

_ Three inches…four…five and a half…and then back down as he slid it out of his mouth _ . The taste was intensifying.

He had no idea if he was doing the right thing but Ancel had not pushed him away and was in fact pushing into him. The red hair tickled his nose and cheeks as he licked down again and suckled with the back of his throat.

Ancel whined, high-pitched and pretty when he came, and Berenger was so shocked at the intensity of it that he just kept swallowing. He didn’t stop until Ancel nearly put out his eyes with those long manicured nails of his in his haste to push Berenger away.

“Wh-why did you do that Berenger?” 

Berenger was still accustoming himself to the taste of semen, deciding whether or not he liked the way it coated his throat. “Isn’t that what people do? Do you not like it?”

“Y-You can just…spit it out if it’s gross…”

“Do you spit it out?” Berenger asked lightly, knowing that Regency escorts would not ever spit. Ancel was quiet and flushed, no doubt remembering his training. Surely no one had ever extended him the same courtesy and Berenger rubbed his cheek. “I wanted to, Strawberry. Did you…did you like it?”

Ancel blushed furiously, too overcome to speak. He nodded. 

“I liked it too.” Berenger whispered and kissed the corner of Ancel’s lips. 

Ancel kissed him back and the sweet waves of pleasure must have given way to intense desire to show of his own skills because his hands went to the drawstrings of Berenger’s pajama pants. His voice was all seductive and sugary. “And now I’m going to—.”

“Wait, wait.” Berenger insisted, grasping Ancel’s wrists. 

“You don’t want me to?” Ancel sounded supremely confused. “Nobody has ever just—.”

“Do you like me because I’m like everyone else?” Berenger laughed, kissing Ancel’s fingertips. “Of course not. You like me because I’m odd and I’m not going to treat you like your old clients. I’m going to…I’m going to  _ cherish _ you. And that means sometimes I’ll do…stuff to you and you don’t have to do it back. I don’t mind. I…I  _ like _ seeing you orgasm.”

“You’re so weird…”

“And yet you like me.” Berenger teased him.

“So what do we do then? If you don’t want me to suck your dick?”

“I guess just go to sleep?”

“Sure, I guess ummm…but do you mind keeping your shirt off?” He trailed one hand down Berenger’s solid abdomen, his green eyes glittering with something like hunger. “I’ve never—I mean, I like how  _ cut _ you are. It’s…really sexy.”

“Sure.” He said, balling up his T-shirt and tossing it off the bed. The wind was almost knocked out of him as Ancel collided with his torso and did not let go, even as Berenger had to twist around to blow out the candle. Ancel’s breath was pleasantly warm on his skin as he fell back down into his bed.

“Berry?” Ancel whispered once he had nestled against Berenger’s bare chest.

“Yeah?”

“You can always slap me in the face with your dick if you want.” Ancel whispered.

Berenger slapped Ancel lightly on the ass before the both of them dissolved into helpless laughter. 

 


	15. Berenger Gets Angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh I'm so excited about all that is coming up!   
> Berenger and Ancel are in love but there are a few tags I haven't explored yet in this fic! There's going to be another raid on the Regency (courtesy of assassin Berenger) and a rare Lazar POV!  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I've had so much fun writing this fic and I'm so glad I have so many readers invested in their story!

**Berenger Gets Angry**

All of the hell Ancel put him through in their first weeks together was worth it for the sight Berenger was waking up to in the mornings.

He had given up on wearing a shirt to bed so that when he pulled back the covers in the morning he was greeted by a sheet of blood-red hair and silm, white arms draped over the hard planes of his abdomen. He woke up even earlier for work so that he could run his fingers through Ancel’s hair, gently unraveling the knots, before pressing light kisses on Ancel’s neck, face, and shoulders. 

He liked it so much that often he kissed until a bright slit of green caught his eye; Ancel pretending to be annoyed that he had been ‘jostled’ awake so early as he nestled into the crook of Berenger’s neck.

“It’s too early.” Ancel mumbled, though Berenger felt suckling on his collarbone. “Why did you wake me up?”

“Sorry Strawberry. I couldn’t help it.” Berenger slipped his hands under Ancel’s bottom—hiding his surprise at finding it bare—so that he could hold Ancel closer. “Go back to sleep.”

“Gonna watch me as I sleep?”

“Just smell you.” Berenger joked.

“Creep.”

“Freckled Fiend.”

They had yet to go ‘all the way’, so to speak but Berenger was enjoying giving Ancel pleasure as well as just being close to him. It was going to be a bit of an issue if he became more attached because then he might be late to work so that he could stay in bed with Ancel. 

Inevitably when he did have to leave, Ancel latched onto him, whining low in his chest as if Berenger was hurting him.

“Stay.”

“I have to go, Strawberry. Who’s going to pay for your diamond-studded lingerie if I don’t get a paycheck?” Berenger managed to extricate himself, but paused to look back at his lovely bedmate. 

“You lie.” Ancel murmured, snuggling down into the bedding.

“You’re beautiful.” 

Ancel was fairly quiet as Berenger showered and dressed in preparation for work, but as he was fastening his watch, he heard the rustling of sheets. “Berry?”

“Yes?” He turned back and sat on the edge of the bed so that he could smooth Ancel’s hair.

“When I’m allowed to leave…could we take a vacation? Together?” He looked so sweet in that moment, Berenger would have done anything for him. “Can we go to your home in the mountains? It’s fine if you…if you don’t want to but…it would be nice to go there and—.”

“Ok Ancel.” Berenger kissed Ancel’s forehead. “We can go…sometime. I’d be happy to show you my home.” He meant it; perhaps it would be a reward for when the Regency was finally routed. “Be good Strawberry. I’ll see you when I get home.”

He felt unusually light as he walked into The Veretian Blind, even thinking of his chateau in the mountains. It was almost enough to push away the pulsing excitement inside his workplace. Laurent and Auguste were out for blood and Berenger felt the itch in his trigger finger.

Laurent was standing with Damen in the main boardroom—usually reserved for the most secretive of meetings—staring at two massive whiteboards covered in the blueprints of what looked to be a two-story compound. 

It seemed like a good enough place to start. 

“Boss. Damen.”

“Hi.” Damen turned his smile on Berenger and Berenger was momentarily blinded by the intensity of it. 

“Berenger.” Laurent chewed lightly on his thumbnail as he studied the layout. “Jord asked for you with the guns. You’re quicker at cleaning them than anyone else but I want you to take a look at this for a moment.”

His recon experience was helpful for this situation and Berenger took in the map in front of him with a practiced eye. It took a moment for him decipher the details but he noticed something unusual.

“This place looks like it’s meant to keep people in. It might be hard to defend. A good sniper would fuck them up, so to speak.”

Laurent nodded as if he had expected Berenger to say this (in all likelihood, he probably had already noticed). “So the issue is keeping anyone innocent inside from getting hurt…” He spoke mostly to himself but the tone was inclusive to suggestion. 

“That’s where we come in.” Damen said it lightly, but there was an edge of sex to it that Berenger could now detect. Laurent’s hip bumped against Damen’s, almost unconsciously.

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

Berenger excused himself and exited the room before he witnessed the two of them ripping the tank tops off of one another. Still, he was not bothered at all. He thought about Ancel’s hips and wished his lovely Strawberry would text him, but it was still too early in the day.

“Don’t go in there.” He warned Aimeric, Jord’s boyfriend, as he wandered toward the room with a small stack of photographs. His expression was immediately darkened with annoyance.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Berenger did a wide variety of tasks throughout the day, the entire place frothing with energy over their impending hits on the Regency. Since it was such a massive undertaking, most of their agents were being recruited for the effort and there was no shortage of tasks that needed done in the level beneath the bar.

He helped Jord and Jokaste clean a seemingly endless amount of guns, the three of them having a competition to see who could disassemble, clean, and reassemble the weapon quickest. He had been forced to remove his sweater vest and his oxford was smeared with small dark patches of oil by the time he went for a physical with the company physician, Paschal. Then it was to Lazar and Pallas to see reconstructed imagery of the halls drawn on the whiteboard. 

There was so much to do that he realized towards the end of the workday that he had not been able to check his phone since arriving at work. Ancel would be annoyed and Berenger knew he would have hundreds of messages waiting for him, but it would all be worth it when the Regency was wiped out of the city and Ancel could be free to live his life. 

He winced as he checked his phone on the train ride home, but surprisingly there were no messages. Berenger breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Ancel was also coming to understand that Berenger was working hard on his behalf.

Or, in all likelihood, he had slept until midafternoon and was glued to the computer screen, shopping. 

He took the steps of his stairwell two at a time until he was standing outside his door. He knew he looked like a mess: his hair wild, shirt untucked, stained with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smelling of oil and sweat. But he also knew Ancel would love the look on him. 

He keyed in the code, sliding off the heels of his shoes as he walked inside. He braced himself for Ancel to barrel into him but was surprised when the attack did not come. “Strawberry?” He called.

There was no answer and Berenger walked forward, wondering if Ancel was taking a nap on the couch. But the couch was cold and no candles had been left lit. 

The apartment was oddly quiet. 

Berenger felt his heartbeat cool to nonexistence as he began to pace through the rooms, hoping to see Ancel asleep in his room or Berenger’s bed—hell even the bathtub. His panic grew the longer he searched until he could no longer think or breathe. 

When he could no longer deny what he saw, he took out his phone with shaking hands and called Auguste. Auguste picked up on the second ring.

“Berenger?”

“Ancel is gone.” Berenger choked out, gripping his kitchen table to keep from falling to his knees. “He’s gone.”

 

Auguste, Laurent, Damen, Jord, and Lazar were all in his apartment before a half hour was up, Pallas and Nikandros setting up a casual-looking perimeter outside his apartment building. Berenger let them do as they liked; they could tear the place down around him and he wouldn’t have cared. He simply sat on his couch and waited. 

His throat ached for alcohol. 

Gold and cream filled his vision and he looked up at those beautiful brothers, his bosses. Laurent and Auguste’s gazes would be pitying on other men, but they looked at him with understanding. It was not the first time the Regency had interfered with their plans.

“Berenger,” Auguste began hesitantly, “what happened?”

“He was here when I left. When I came home he was gone.”

“It’s not your fault that he left. He—.”

“I slept with him.” Berenger said the awful truth at a steady, painful pace. Auguste’s eyes grew wide for a split second and Laurent closed his, as if he had expected it. If anyone else had heard his confession, they wisely kept their opinions to themselves. “Well…not penetration. I thought…I thought…” He could not say that he thought Ancel had loved him. 

“Do you think he has gone back to them?” Laurent asked, recovering quicker than his brother.

“I don’t know.” Berenger’s mind had exhausted itself with this terrible puzzle while he waited for Laurent and Auguste to show up. “There’s no sign of forced entry so he must have let someone in or gone out himself. It is a horrible coincidence that he disappears so soon after you take the guards off the door. And when you plan for another large raid. I…”

He had gone over the facts until they felt seared onto his brain. He rubbed his temples as the fury of his mind warred with the broken chip in his chest. He hoped to the gods it wasn’t a betrayal.

“You have eyes in halls right?” Damen asked, having finally chimed into the conversation. “Lazar can see what happened to him. Maybe it was something unforeseen.” Berenger bowed his head while they waited and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

It felt like a lifetime but Damen returned with a tablet and a furrowed brow. Lazar worked quickly.

Berenger took the tablet and there was video evidence right in front of him.

Berenger felt like he was detached from the world, like he was spinning away as he saw Ancel, calm as could be, walking out of the apartment. 

Berenger saw his long legs in flashes of white, his long red hair and his expression hidden under the baseball cap, and phone in his hand. At half past four P.M. he walked down to the stairwells, through the apartment lobby, and out into the world.

The guard working might not have even been from Arles.

Laurent had been taking them out steadily. Or maybe he was. Maybe he had grown lax over more than half a year of waiting for an escape that never came.

Only now Ancel was gone and had disappeared into the city. He had not been taken, he had left of his own volition. Berenger had failed, but moreover he had fallen prey to a honey trap.

He felt like someone had fired a round of bullets into his chest. 

“Breathe, Berenger.” Auguste murmured.

“It was always a risk we were aware of.” Laurent said, as if to himself. “There was always the chance he would go back to them. I just didn’t take him to be the patient type.” He shook his head as Damen rubbed the base of his neck. “We can never underestimate them…”

“How on earth were they able to communicate with him?” Damen asked, seemingly confused by the betrayal. If Laurent’s good-natured ‘complaints’ about his husband were to be believed, then Damen was altogether too trusting of people. “I thought you had traces on his electronics.”

“We did.” Laurent’s brow furrowed. “Or Jord said he had. It’s his ass if he didn’t…I trust you Berenger but…since this is a fucking mess and you’ve fucked the agent, I need you to think if you’ve told him anything sensitive.”

Laurent blinked to compose himself as Berenger met his gaze.

It was all too much and Berenger felt himself dissolving into fury. It was a good thing there was no weapon in his hands. 

“I told him nothing.” Berenger spat, poison filling his chest. “Nothing about my work or about Ios and Arles. I told him nothing of merit.” He had only spoken of matters of the heart. He had only shared his past with Ancel, his fears, his secrets, his love. Nothing of merit.

“You’re a good man, Berenger.” Laurent said gently. “We had no fear you would betray private information. And it is not the first time one of our ranks has fallen for…another agent.”

Marrying the head of Ios was insanity but Berenger could not help but curse himself for the mistake. He would not forgive himself or Ancel. 

“The Regency is good at what they do.” Berenger said coldly. “At training people to lower their defenses. I thought I was not, but given enough time apparently I am weak to silver-tongued double agents who…” He shook his head, unable to get the words out. The hurt was too raw. 

Auguste patted him lightly on the shoulder. “We’re going to figure out what happened here.” 

“Cell phone’s not here.” Jord said as if he had been waiting for the lull in conversation to interject. Lazar popped out close behind, carrying his laptop. “As far as everything else, it seems to here but you’ll need to take inventory.”

“Can you track his phone?” Damen asked.

Lazar was sporting a candy necklace and crushed two of the sugary beads between his teeth. “I can certainly try. If the phone is turned off then I can’t track it remotely, but I have all the data saved from it. If he sent or received any messages or looked up any address, I’ll see it.”

“How long will it take?” Laurent asked.

“To search the whole phone?” Lazar asked. “An hour or two? Gotta access it first and it’ll be easier when I have more than just this laptop.”

Laurent looked like he wanted to groan, but he was too well-bred. “Damen,” Damen was behind him in a moment and Berenger tried to choke back the bitter bile in his throat as he saw Damen trace his finger down the curve of Laurent’s throat, “can we contact your agents in the Regency? I don't want them to anticipate us.”

“We can try.” Damen said. “It’s dangerous to make contact too often. But we can ask them if Ancel is back in the Regency.”

“Do you mind coming back to the office?” Auguste murmured, placing a hand gently on Berenger’s shoulder.

Berenger nodded. Even the thought of work, of order had him cold. The numbers unraveled and burned to ash before he could take solace in them. “Just…give me a moment.”

No one thought to stop Berenger as he got up and went to the spare bedroom Lazar and Jord had just vacated. 

His eyes swam as he took in the piles of brightly colored clothes, the finished puzzles, the stacks of books…He smelled the rapidly fading scent of jasmine and allowed himself one tear before he crushed his feelings deep down and steeled himself.

He had to be prepared that if Ancel had betrayed him, he would make good on his word.

_ If you betray us, I’ll be the one to kill you. _

 

Lazar’s breath was timed with the steady, soft whirring of his machines even as he irritably crunched the powdery candy around his neck, a gift from sweet Pallas. Dord was munching on sweet potato, bobbing his head in irritation whenever the computer screen changed too quickly.

Lazar scratched him under the chin. “I know, bud. It’s frustrating.” 

It was rare that something gave Lazar the slightest of passing annoyances, much less completely frustrated him. There was a dark, tumultuous cloud that hung over The Veretian Blind and Lazar was feeling the pressure. They had all returned to the office after the little search party at Berenger’s place. He wasn’t fond of it, especially when even Berenger—the most unflappable man in the entire company—was at his desk cleaning rifles, looking like murder. 

Further disappointment, Ruby Pubes the Runner had turned off his cell phone so Lazar could not track his location. He was a crafty little shit.

Luckily, Jord was a cautious fucker on the best of days and he would not let some redheaded whore hightail it out of their sight with an unbugged cell phone. A few keystrokes and Lazar had access to all of Ancel’s cell phone activity from before he turned the phone off.

And maybe he would be able to snatch a few hours of sleep with Pallas under one of the desks upstairs, his head resting on one of those massive pectorals. That alone was enough to give him an extra bit of energy. 

“What’ve got for me, Red?” Lazar asked, rolling a piece of candy between his canines. 

He decided to work his way backwards and go from the most recent activity. He read the first thing he selected and the candy bead fell from between his teeth. This did not add up at all.

“ _ Shit _ . Laurent! Get in here!” 

Surely the thought of destroying his uncle’s rotten empire had Laurent sleeping in the office as well. Laurent was quick, Damen close behind, and Lazar took a split second to drink in their combined extraordinary beauty before he got back to business. “Look at this.”

He motioned to the screen, hoping they would be quick enough to see what he did. 

Laurent was observant and Lazar heard him suck in breath through his teeth. “That is not the right number. That means…”

“It’s not Berenger.” Lazar nodded.

“Then who is it?” Damen asked, not far behind in recognizing what was the matter. “Do you think it could be someone from the Regency?”

Of course it was. They were slick fuckers and patient as hell. Lazar slipped the candy back into his mouth and furrowed his brows at this new puzzle. “Damen, you may want to contact your guys ASAP. Red is definitely in trouble.”

 


	16. Berenger Sees Something Terrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god I can finally remedy this cliffhanger!  
> I'm sure you all will appreciate what has actually happened and also what is to come! By the way, Trigger Warning for anyone who cannot handle torture, gore, blood, these next two chapters will be the main culprits so avoid them if you need it!  
> I'm literally only 1 chapter of writing from finishing this story and the feeling is so bittersweet! Enjoy!

**Berenger Sees Something Terrible**

It was Jokaste who contacted the Ios agents inside the Regency, her heels tapping the floor in a subtle tell of nerves. These kinds of contacts always had to be handled delicately because if their agents were discovered death might be the least of their problems. And aside from Laurent, Jokaste was the best at talking her way out of bullshit.

They were currently working towards letting Lazar hack into the entire network of the building they were going to raid. Laurent chewed lightly on his thumbnail, unused to being a passive spectator.

“How’s it going, babe?” Lazar asked without looking up from his computer. “Are we live yet?”

Jokaste put one hand over her microphone, the other rubbing Dord’s scaly cheeks. “Won’t you be able to see that yourself? Now shut up please.”

“Tell them not to cut the red wire or we’ll all explode.” Lazar replied.

Damen gazed at the ceiling hopefully as if the gods could spare them all from Lazar’s bullshit. Highly unlikely. Jokaste got that alert look, her foot pausing as she obviously heard hushed voices over the line. Everyone else held their breath, unwilling to be the one to give away the undercover agents.

“They’re clipping it on Lazar.” She hissed.

“Sexy…” Lazar responded errantly and Laurent had to stop himself from laughing. “Alright it’s loading up now. Spread your legs for me you sexy system.” Auguste shook silently next to Laurent.

“We’re live. Get out of there.” Jokaste whispered into her microphone. “And await further orders. Over and out.”

Lazar’s finger’s flew across the keyboard and he whistled low in excitement as he accessed sights unknown to anyone but the IT department employed by the Regency. “They’re so fucking screwed.”

“How much have we got?” Laurent asked, his voice as breathy as when he was trying to get Damen to pay attention to him.

“Everything.” Lazar pushed imaginary glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “Security cameras, automatic locks, central servers. I bet their password is ‘admin’. I’m going to bust this--” there was a sound like bone cracking followed by a piercing scream that came from the computer speakers and Lazar’s face drained of color, “ _FUCK_ THE GODS!”

Damen, Jokaste, Auguste, and Laurent ran over to him, if not to see what was on screen then to prevent the laptop from falling to the floor.

“Steady on!” Auguste said as he and Damen made sure Lazar was not having a heart attack.

Jokaste and Laurent looked at the computer, slowly experiencing the same horror that Lazar had just felt. The next snap came all too soon, getting Auguste and Damen’s attention. There was a long moment of silence when no one knew what to do or say.

“Two birds, one stone.” Damen said through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing with fury.

Laurent already had his phone out.

 

Berenger was in a fugue state in the two days since Ancel had left for the Regency. He was not sure whether he ever slept in the traditional sense of the word but there were chunks of darkness he could not account for.

He had dumped all the remaining alcohol in his apartment down his sink to prevent himself from taking solace in it, instead obsessively cleaning and assembling his guns. Their smooth metal bodies and his black anger kept him firmly rooted in his resolve. He didn’t know what he would do after the Regency had been torn to shreds and Ancel stood in front of him.

At work, he went immediately to the shooting range and riddled the paper targets with bullet holes until Jord pulled him to the side and all but ordered him to take a break. Berenger sat by the side of the range, still gripping his gun. He would not even look at his phone, worried that he would hope to see the little strawberry icon light up his screen.

He thought about spending the night at the office to avoid going home.

He did not like to think about encountering the residual scent of jasmine or waking up in a cold empty bed.

Berenger put his head between his knees in hopes of alleviating the throbbing headache that had very recently been a daily part of his waking hours. He did not want to believe that Ancel would betray him but...there was no explanation as to why Ancel would leave and his temples throbbed.

He was glad the safety of his gun was on because he nearly dropped it when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Berry here.” He gasped, answering it without even looking at who was calling him.

“Berenger.” Laurent’s calm, confident tone could not be mistaken. “You’re still here, am I right? Would you mind coming up to my office?”

“Yes…”

He walked to Laurent’s office without leaving his gun in the range, though he did set it down after seeing Damen’s look of dismay. He knew the man might to try and wrench it from him if he got too close to Laurent with it. Damen and Lazar both looked as if they had witnessed a murder while Laurent seemed unperturbed, if a little tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Berenger.” Laurent said, “Please sit.”

The three of them were clustered around Laurent’s desk and Lazar’s computer was open on top. As he sat down, Berenger felt what a cruel joke it would be if they were all to sit down together and watch a movie.

“You needed me boss?” He asked, feeling like death itself as he sank into the chair.

“Yes.”

Lazar could not contain himself any longer and burst out with unusual emotion. “Ancel didn’t betray us, Berry.” Berenger glared at him without blinking but Lazar did not back down. “He didn’t.”

“I’m not going to entertain this.” Berenger whispered.

“Berenger, hear him out.” Laurent tried to mediate but Berenger tried to get up and leave. Damen grabbed him and steered him back to the seat. Berenger allowed it to happen; even at his best, he had no hope in hell of beating Damen in a show of strength. “Please.”

Berenger let Lazar try to explain.

There was some mention of a phone hack, of a text message instructing Ancel to leave,  and Berenger’s name being used but Berenger was too deep in his own darkness to really absorb any of what was being said. The hurt was still too raw and he was not ready to even hear Ancel’s name much less consider the theory that he was somehow innocent in all of this.

“ _Listen_!” Lazar hissed, tossing a pen at Berenger’s face to jerk him out of his reveries.

“Fuck it!” Laurent threw up his hands in annoyance. “I don’t…” He looked to Damen, a little anguished, “I don’t want to show him.”

Damen looked at Laurent with something deeper than tenderness and it cut Berenger to the quick. “It’s foul and cruel but we have to… it’s the only way to see how serious the situation is.” He glanced at Berenger and the tenderness changed to regret. “It must be done. Show him.”

Laurent shuddered but flipped up the laptop screen

Berenger turned to Lazar’s computer, unsure of what kind of ridiculous thing he should brace himself for. If even Lazar looked like hell then—

Berenger didn’t breathe.

He couldn’t.

It was Ancel there on the screen.

Suddenly the computer screen was his entire world and he took in everything before his lungs allowed air in. It was _Ancel_.

He was in a bare concrete room, dark dried stains on the floor near a drain. The metal chair he was in was bolted to the floors and he was strapped to it with thick leather straps—two on each arm, one around his ankles, one around his thighs, and one around his waist. There was a metal cart partially off-screen that bore all manner of twisted, sharp, terrible things.

Berenger took stock of Ancel, his teeth clenched so hard that they felt about to shatter.

Ancel’s head was bowed, a small line of blood and spit sliding down his chin and chest. His red hair, the long, soft hair he was so proud of, had been sheared off above the ears. He was naked and barefoot, most of his delicate freckles lost on the quality of the camera and he was trembling.

It took Berenger a moment to see that Ancel’s lovely, slim fingers were bent and twisted at odd angles. His fingers had been broken and Berenger’s breath felt like knives.

“Hello Red.”

“Don’t call him Red.” Berenger speaking was the only thing keeping his teeth from crumbling to powder.

Ancel shuddered but did not respond. He had lost his fire and his lips trembled as the man who entered the frame took him gently by the chin and tilted his face up to the light. This revealed an eye that was swollen shut. “Red, you look like hell.” He leaned down carefully, gently almost, and kissed the corner of Ancel’s lips, despite Ancel keeping his lips closed in a grimace. “Look what they’ve done to your pretty fingers…”

“Just…kill me.” Ancel shook his head away from the grasp of his handler and Berenger felt his heart stop. He could not die. He would not.

The handler laughed in amazement. “Darling, you’re not going to die for a long while. Death is going to be the sweetest feeling in the world when we’re finished with you.”

Ancel’s expression blazed for a moment, still some fight left in him and Berenger felt a rush of pride in his chest. _Tough little Strawberry_.

His handler must have recognized the defiance and toyed with the tip of one of Ancel’s broken fingers. Ancel cried out and Berenger felt a strong, steadying hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve only had one day together. We’re on step one, the sweetest step.” If broken fingers were the sweetest, Berenger did not like to think of what would come next. “All I need is information.”

Ancel closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them he was clenched tight and furious. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”

Berenger knew then that Ancel had been tricked or taken somehow. He could have given them Berenger’s name or his occupation or his schedule but he hadn’t. He was holding firm. He was protecting Berenger. The love and affection Berenger had tried to forget rushed back into him like a slice through the chest.

“Ancel…”

The handler sighed in annoyance before turning away from Ancel to the metal cart and the cruel tools on top of it. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. You were always one of my favorites; I like your spirit and no one gives head quite like you but...you have to know that the higher-ups are pissed with you. They want you dead,” he picked up a curved blade that looked wickedly sharp, “but how quickly you die depends on what you tell me. I just need to know,” the blade was returned and Berenger exhaled in relief, “who had you and why?”

“I...I don’t know.” Ancel whispered. “T-They never told me...I swear…”

It was clear his handler did not believe him, from the way he sighed. “Oh Ancel...that’s not good enough.” His hands fell to something slightly off screen and Berenger groaned as he saw the slim coil of a bullwhip fall to the concrete floors. “I’m going to have to jog your memory.”

“Oh gods…” Laurent whispered.

Berenger could not avert his eyes; he almost wished that Ancel would speak up and say all he knew to spare himself.

Laurent and Damen had covered their tracks well. Ancel had never heard their names or the names of Arles and Ios. He could probably give descriptions of their appearances, perhaps of their personalities, and though he could tell them all he knew of Lazar no one short of a god could track that man down unless he wanted to be found.

The only thing Ancel knew was Berenger. An assassin from Arles was a worthwhile prize and the Regency would send their own assassins to hunt him. But...Berenger was willing to try and kill them all to spare Ancel the whip. Ancel could not hear his prayers through the screen; he would not give up Berenger.

Ancel loved him.

It was too late in any case. The whip was moving faster than the eye could detect and the crack came after the blood sprayed in the air in a fine pink mist.

In pain, Ancel did not cry. Berenger remembered that Ancel had bragged about not crying. Berenger had no problem believing that someone as hardy as Ancel would not cry. Not after being neglected by drug addicted parents or after being forced to flee the only place that was safe to escape a predator. Not after having his body sold countless times for information.

Still the sharp, metallic keening that slipped from Ancel’s slim body was devastating to hear.

Faded through the sound of the computer speakers it sounded like Berenger’s mother’s cries. So familiar and terrible.

Berenger felt hands that were only strong enough to be Damen’s on his shoulders, perhaps to keep him from doing something dangerous. Berenger held his breath as the numbers splattered out like blood and brains in his mind.

The number of seconds it took for the whip to land number of blood droplets number of tremors as Ancel screeched through clenched teeth numbers dripping red and blackening twisting in Berenger’s mind, so many goddamn numbers choking him until he couldn’t _breathe_.

Twenty-two times the whip rose and fell, clearly tearing Ancel’s slim, white back to pieces before his scream took on something like words.

The torture paused and his handler was gentle again. “What was it Ancel? You remembered something?”

It took Ancel a few moments of trying. His voice was hoarse and he had bitten his lip or his tongue because fresh blood dribbled from his mouth. Still, his words came through eventually.

“N…Not…Berry. You…c-can’t…have him…”

The trainer groaned and slammed the whip down hard on the metal tray before squeezing one of Ancel’s hands. The pain must have been intense on the broken bones but Ancel was out of screams. He just gave a rattling gasp before slumping back down in his chair.

“I swear to the gods, you sluts are the stubbornest things. I wonder if you’ll still be mouthy when we start cutting bits off of you. We’re still a couple steps before that though.” Ancel did not move. “Ah fuck it. What was your name? Get in here. I have an errand for you.”

It was another Regency pet, clear from his slim body and electric blue eyes, that entered the room after being called.

The slip of a blue-eyed thing bunched up in terror, balking at the droplets of blood, his almond-shaped eyes unnaturally large at the sight of Ancel and the whip dripping blood and what he probably knew was coming next.

The handler gently tilted Ancel’s chin up to survey his damage. Even through the pixels of the computer, Berenger could tell he was only a few lashes away from passing out.

The handler seemed unimpressed by the state of Ancel. “You’ll live yet. And you—,” the blue-eyed beauty jumped at being addressed, “tell the guards on call that he’s in here. Can’t let such an expensive piece of ass go to waste without—.”

Laurent moved back instinctively as Berenger wrenched himself out of Damen’s grasp—no small feat—and slammed the laptop screen down. He let the rage soak into his skin and bones, let his beat in his blood as he thought of all the people he was going to kill in the next 24 hours.

Thinking of Ancel with those long bloody lashes across his slim back, Berenger knew the shots he was going to take: one shot to the kneecaps to bring them to the ground, one shot to the dick for pain and for touching him, and then one through the forehead. And to think he had thought Ancel betrayed him?

He was never going to doubt the young man’s loyalty again.

“I’m going to kill them.” He said, apparently his voice the only part of him remaining calm.

“We’re readying up.” Damen assured him, his expression grave. “We’ve got a plan in place and we’re going to get everyone assembled soon, Berenger.”

“Tonight.” Berenger said decisively. At this point he would fight Damen over it. “I am going tonight. I’m going to kill every one of those bastards and I’m getting him the fuck _out_ of there, Laurent.” His voice cracked a little and the pain seeped in, darker and more horrible than anything he had felt before.

Laurent must have Berenger’s resolve; Berenger never questioned him but he would leave this company, go rogue if it meant getting Ancel out faster. “Let’s do it.” He said, as much resolve in his tone as if it had been his idea all along. “I put Ancel in your house and they won’t expect an assault so soon—.”

“Laurent we shouldn’t rush this.” Damen cautioned and Berenger could have leapt at him for attempting to delay this.

Laurent fixed him with an emotional look that would have melted weaker men where they stood. “If it was you, I would have already been out the door.”

Damen sighed, curving into Laurent protectively before steeling himself into something fearful. “You’re right. I’ll get my guys together and I’ll tell my agents to get ready.” The two of them seemed to blaze with with energy…but it also might have been that Berenger felt as though he hadn’t blinked since the laptop was closed.

“We’ll call Auguste in and prep. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

“Will you be ready by then?” Damen asked turning back to Berenger, the stuff of Regency nightmares.

Berenger did not respond but he saw them both blanch slightly at the sight of him, as if they could see the fire and fury roiling inside of him. He felt something cool and comforting in his hand and he looked down, surprised to find a gun held lightly in his right hand. The safety was off and he did not remember picking it up in the first place.

 


	17. Berenger Kills a Shit-Ton of People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After last week's cliffhanger, I am so pleased everyone is ready for Berenger to kick ass and take names. When I was first writing this story (aside from the actual AU premise) this scene was the first one I thought of: Berenger doing an actual FPS run through a Regency compound. All hail the brown harbinger of death.  
> Also! I'm so happy to introduce the agents from Ios! Some of you have guessed already who they are but I love this iteration of them and I've been thinking about all the people shocked by what they can do in the story. No one would suspect haha!  
> Only 2 chapters left of this story (remember when I thought it would be like 13 chapters? HA) and I cannot wait to give you all the ending you've waited for!  
> Enjoy!

**Berenger Kills a Shit-Ton of People**

With the combined power of Ios and Arles rushing a massive operation like this sting, it seemed that everyone was good and ready by the time dusk fell on the city. Huet had a fleet of vehicles standing by and Berenger went home briefly to get his favorite pistol out of the safe in his closet and to dress in a set of all black active wear.

Jord and Aimeric were waiting for him when he returned, both looking like they had not slept in days.

“I got it, sweet pea.” Jord stopped Aimeric before he shuffled over to wherever they were storing their supplies. Jord disappeared into one of the conference rooms as Aimeric all but slumped to the floor in exhaustion. 

When Jord re-emerged, he had a bulletproof vest draped over one arm, an earpiece and miniature microphone in one open palm, and an elegant hunting rifle in his other hand. “Berenger, here. I know you prefer these over the automatics and the assault rifles.”

“Yes.” Berenger said as he accepted the weapon. It was lighter than he remembered, perhaps made with some lightweight alloy, but then he had also grown since the last time he held a rifle.  “How many men are there going to be?”

“In our group, maybe twenty five. Plus whatever the Akielons bring, but their hunters are worth the manpower of two--.”

“Not that.” Berenger interrupted, feeling more in control of himself now that he had a gun in his hand. “Do you know how many men are in the complex we’re raiding?”

Jord blinked owlishly. “I…no, I…don’t. Laurent might?”

Berenger ignored anything else Jord had to say in favor of walking away to find Laurent. He did not even knock on the door to Laurent’s office; if Damen was balls deep in his husband then that was their problem. 

“Laurent.”

Laurent was not naked or being fucked, thank the gods. He was standing in the center of his office in tight fitting black pants and shirt, while Auguste was helping him strap on his holsters. One thing that was good about these brothers was that they were not afraid of getting their hands dirty. 

“Berenger.” Laurent and Auguste spoke at the same time, calm as if they had been expecting him. 

“How many men are going to be in this compound we’re raiding?”

“No more than fifty.” Auguste replied.

“Why do you want to know?” With his holster attached, Laurent looked deceivingly slim. It would be a fool to underestimate him, but then again Berenger was even more nondescript and he was just as deadly. 

“I need to know how many bullets to bring.” Berenger said, already turning to leave.

“How many are you bringing?” 

“No more than fifty.” 

 

The bullets--all fifty of them--were securely in his pocket by the time Damen arrived to their safehouse with his massive entourage and Huet was assigning people to cars. Berenger kept himself remote from everyone else.

He leaned against the outer facade of the building, staring at the sidewalk without speaking. He was mostly focused on getting the sound of Ancel’s screams out of his ears, on not seeing the red coil of that goddamn whip every time he closed his fucking eyes. 

“You’re with me, Berenger.”

He looked up to see Auguste smiling carefully at him. His long hair was tied back and he was dressed in all black: long sleeves, heavy boots, bulletproof vest, matching guns. He did not wear a mask; no one at the Regency who saw them was going to make it out alive.

“As long as I’m not with Lazar.” Berenger said as a matter of course, though it had no bite to it. 

“No…he’s with the tech guys. I…are you sure you’re alright to do this? I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Berenger was sure he meant well but Auguste’s words seemed foolish to him. He did not care if he was so distraught as to get hurt. He just wanted to get Ancel out. “They’re hurting him, Auguste.”

“I know they are Berenger. But we’re going to get him out of there.”

Berenger wanted to ask him if this helpless fury and pain was something similar to how he felt when the Regency had taken Laurent. But there was the chance Auguste might find the question a sign of instability and force him to stay behind. So he stayed silent and nodded. 

At quarter past nine, the huge group piled into their respective cars, knee to knee in the back of vans, silent and pulsing with adrenaline as they drove to the massive training complex just outside the port district.

It looked like an industrial office building, all concrete and cool, harsh lighting, but it did not take long to notice that the men who guarded the facility had guns strapped to their back and that no one was able to get into the complex without passing by a stringent checkpoint.

Berenger’s group was the first out of their vehicles and Berenger had himself in place before the rest of his allies. He heard Laurent’s silken smooth whisper over the microphone in his ear, but he ignored it the moment he had the rifle up. 

He was hunting now and Ancel was somewhere chained up in this building.

Perhaps he was out of his mind and Auguste should have forced him to stay behind. No one expected that Berenger would have lost himself to the point that he would level his rifle with perfect precision and shoot both of the gatehouse guards in the head, the glass of the shack shattering down around them. 

There was a riot in Berenger’s ears. 

The world could have been ending behind him for all he knew, he might have disobeyed direct orders but he did not waver. Holding his rifle, he began to walk leisurely toward the Regency warehouse. People were going to start noticing that the front guards were missing the backs of their heads.

There were two guards by the main doors and Berenger caught them both between the eyes from five hundred meters. It was almost laughably easy.

Somehow it was Lazar’s voice that cut through his fog and he seemed torn between laughter and screaming. “ _ Berry _ ! Berenger, you mad fuck, what the  _ hell  _ are you thinking? There are four assholes just inside that door--”

“I’m going to find Ancel. Mute the sound.” Berenger shouldered his rifle and withdrew his pistol, firing four shots into the door itself. The metal punctured hollowly, outmatched by the quality of his gun and Lazar cursed.

“ _ Fuck _ ! Fucking  _ dammit _ give me a second to actually mute it, you asshole!”

“Did I get them?” Berenger asked, though he was already pushing the door open.

“Of course you did, Berry Buttfucker.” Lazar grumbled. “Laurent and Auguste are pissed at you for pre-ejaculating bullets  _ but _ that means you’ve got hell coming your way and they can sneak in on the other sides. Also, I’m going to be your own personal brown eye in the sky.”

“Joy.” Berenger said flaty. “Well…enjoy the show.” 

“Go straight...as best you can, gay icon.” 

“I can’t go in any other direction!” Berenger hissed, hearing shouts from somewhere in the building. 

“Then you shouldn’t get lost. Asshole.”

To be fair, having Lazar hacked into the surveillance system did provide some unique help. 

He could tell Berenger when men were coming, how many there were, and whether or not they were hostile. 

Berenger felt as though he was detached from his body. 

There was no strategy, no pausing to consider his next moves; it was just run, aim, and shoot. He wondered briefly if this was what hunting was truly supposed to feel like, if the fireworks of brain matter and blood were meant to cause such an electric surge in his heart. 

He was duly aware that he had seen no slim young pets wandering about and that Lazar was all but screaming in his ear as he watched. 

“Gods  _ above _ ! Fucking gods, Berry!”

“Where is he?” Berenger paused to reload, his fingers sliding the bullets deftly into their chambers without him even looking down. “Where is he, Lazar?”

“I’m working on it! There’s a lot of fucking rooms.” Lazar hissed, sounding irritated for the first time ever. “Why in the name of the gods haven’t you done this before? Fuck, your body count is going to surpass my orgy record soon.”

The mechanisms of his pistol clicked back into place and Berenger felt calm again. “I don’t have to be careful.”

He did not have to worry about anyone seeing him, about being caught--he didn’t care if the Regency knew who he was. He could be as savage as he liked and no one who saw it--outside of Lazar--was going to know. He was going to charge deeper into the fray; two men lost the backs of their skulls before they could turn to investigate who was coming towards them.

And Berenger soon discovered where the escorts of the Regency were hiding.

He had his gun up when he heard footsteps from down the corridor.

“Don’t shoot.” Lazar cautioned him quickly. Berenger lowered his pistol but did not holster it. He could not be too cautious.

The young leggy things that slipped around the corner looked like Regency pets, save for two things. They walked with the ease and confidence of men who had been around a lot of death and bloodshed and they both carried weapons in their lovely hands. 

The one with tufts of golden curls and dark freckled skin carried a rifle casually over one shoulder, clearly someone who was used to carrying a gun, while the pale one with long, dark hair was in blood up to his elbows as he carried a blade almost as long as his forearm. Berenger was so shocked by their ease and beauty that he didn’t even think to shoot at them; it would have been a tricky shot, since both of them were wearing bulletproof vests that were two sizes too large.

The pale one noticed him first and blue eyes Berenger recognized grew wide in amazement. “You’re not Regency. Are you the assassin? Blackberry?” The golden beauty flipped his rifle so that the barrel was pointed at Berenger’s throat.

He knew that if he answered wrong, his neck would be blasted open.

“Who hell gave me that name?” The dark haired one smiled at his casual irritation and Berenger finally recognized him. “ _ You _ ! You’re the one from the video! Ancel! I’m looking for Ancel, the redhead they were torturing on film.” Recognition dawned on their faces and Berenger felt his heart skip beats. “Can you bring me to him? Please?”

“How did you see that video?” The golden one asked, still cautious.

“Damianos showed me.” Berenger hissed, hoping no one from the Regency could hear.

At least it had the desired effect and both pets immediately lowered their weapons. Berenger had had a feeling that the two of them were the aforementioned Ios agents Jokaste had been keeping in contact with; they were simply too comfortable with weaponry and chaos.

“Virgo? Scorpio?” 

“Not here we’re not. He’s Erasmus. And I’m Kallias.” The bloodstained scorpion got closer, more serious now that their names and codes were spoken aloud. “I can take you to Ancel. Erasmus, can you get the sweet ones out on your own?”

“Of course.” Erasmus patted the vest and there was the telltale jingle of rifle bullets.

“Your boss is punching men in on the north side.” Berenger added as Erasmus walked closer to him. “My faction are on the west and south. I think--” 

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts and the three of them reacted instinctively on seeing two panicked Regency men sprint around the corner. Kallias stepped back respectfully as Berenger and Erasmus had guns up. Erasmus’ slim shoulder barely jerked as he fired two rounds into one man’s skull, splattering detritus on the wall, while Berenger needed only one shot to the neck of the other man.

Erasmus looked impressed. “Hell of a shot.”

“Same to you. If you can, aim for the throat. They’ll drown in their own blood and it’s more painful that way.”

Erasmus smiled sweetly; the ‘Virgo’ moniker was well-earned. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Put the fear of the gods into them, Sweetness.” Kallias pulled Erasmus down by his bulletproof vest, blood smearing across his dark collarbone, as he kissed him. The kiss was not virginal or hesitant, which made Berenger think they were more than just teammates.

Erasmus ran off, his bare feet soundless on the concrete floors.

“Let’s go then.” Kallias said, his voice husky with violence. “You’re a crack shot with those things right?” He inclined his head toward the rifle on Berenger’s back and the pistol held lightly in his right hand. Berenger nodded. “Good. Stay behind me and shoot them as they come. I’ll get the stragglers.” For someone who was so slight and barefoot and armed with only a knife, he certainly was a bossy little thing.

Berenger was hyper aware as he followed quick Kallias through the labyrinthine halls that he was getting ever closer to Ancel. His heart was pounding by the time the two of them encountered their first round of guards. 

As Berenger tensed his arms in preparation to fire, his mind already awash in the physics of gunfire, Kallias was off running. He was damned quick and the first of the Regency men did not even realize he was a threat until his skinny legs were wrapped around their torsos and his blade was buried eight inches into their necks. Berenger was almost frozen by the savagery of it; those people in Ios were no fucking joke. 

Still, he recovered quicker than the Regency men and Berenger had bullets through flesh as easy as breathing. He felt more regret for the birds he had shot from the sky in his childhood.

Five men were dead on the ground only half a minute after meeting Kallias and Berenger.

Kallias had bloody freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks. “You’re  _ amazing _ ! Better than Erasmus…say, do you have any interest in joining Ios?”

Berenger smiled at his gall. “An undercover ops, mean with a knife, and you are also on recruitment? I hope they pay you enough.”

“I’ve been training for this since I was a kid.” Kallias said proudly. “And--oh dammit, these fuckers really are just rude as hell. I’m sure we can get to know each other later on.” 

He had heard more running and sprinted around the corner before Berenger could stop him.

Kallias ran to the Regency men, pretending to sob for help before launching himself at the jugular. Berenger was again impressed as he dropped to his knees and fired methodically, and Kallias did not even flinch as bullets flew past his head. 

“You’re a damn terror, you know that?”

“The room they’re holding Ancel in isn’t far from here.” Kallias said. “We had discussed putting him with the other little pets but…I didn’t know if it was safe to move him. We were worried we might hurt him.”

“I’m going to kill them all for what they did to him.” Berenger promised with every ounce of sincerity he possessed. 

“You’ve been doing a hell of a job thus far. Come on.”

Berenger stayed dutifully behind Kallias, not even questioning as Kallias slapped his hand against Berenger’s chest to stop him in his tracks. 

“Someone is coming.”

Berenger slipped back into the shadows, watching carefully for approaching enemies. Kallias did not take any such precautions and stood, dripping red, in the center of the hallway. 

At first there was no sign of anyone. Then trembling hands braced the wall and Kallias paused, his shoulder muscles bunched in preparation to sprint like a demon. However, Berenger saw the chipped mint nail polish and he felt his heart seize in his chest. He touched Kallias on the shoulder before taking off running.

He holstered his pistol, uncaring if there was an ambush on the other side of the wall. 

But there wasn’t an ambush.

Berenger screeched to a halt and opened his arms instinctively. 

It was Ancel who stared up at him. 

He was shaking like a leaf, his fingers twisted, and back still dripping blood. He was naked with red hair sticking out unevenly around his head, pale skin bruised, eyes wide, and a bloody scalpel gripped between his broken fingers in the approximation of a weapon.

He was  _ breathing _ . Berenger heard his breath hitch in three short gasps. “B-Berry? Berenger?”

The scalpel hit the concrete with a metallic click and Berenger had his arms around Ancel, trying to embrace him without touching any of the open wounds on his back. But it was Ancel, alive and in his arms. He was going to get out of this alive.

“It’s me, it’s me.” He whispered fiercely, running his hands through Ancel’s ruined hair. ” _ Ancel _ .” He felt Ancel’s arms wrap around his neck and Ancel’s chest hitched with sobs as he collapsed his full weight against Berenger. 

“I can’t--I c-can’t!” Ancel looked up at him and Berenger was shocked to see tears pouring down Ancel’s cheeks. Berenger couldn’t breathe; he knew Ancel was proud of never crying--hell, he had withstood terrible torture without shedding a tear--and now he was openly sobbing in Berenger’s arms. His long legs trembled and Berenger made a judgment call.

“I’m going to carry you out of here, love. I’m going to...pick you up. It will be painful but…”

“Take me home!” Ancel begged. “I-I don’t care…how. Berry! I c-can stand it…j-just  _ please _ …take me home…” 

Berenger tried to pretend it did not break his heart as he hoisted Ancel into his arms and heard the young man scream in pain. Blood began to soak through the sleeve of his shirt and Ancel’s head lolled. The pain must have been enough to have him pass out and Berenger took the opportunity to hiss into his microphone.

“Lazar! Lazar, I’ve got him. I’ve got Ancel and--.”

“Gods above, Berenger! Get the fuck out of there! The hunters are coming. Run, baby, run and we’ll have--.”

Berenger stopped listening in favor of shifting Ancel in his arms so that he could unsling his rifle. “Kallias, do you know how to use this?” Kallias rolled his eyes at the apparently stupid question before accepting the gun.

“My Erasmus is a better shot.”

“We’ll try to get to him on the way out. Can you get us out of here?” Berenger asked, gripping Ancel closer. He wished he had taken off his bulletproof vest and draped it across Ancel. He no longer felt entirely human in his own skin and he just wanted to see Ancel in a hospital with bandages around his back and fingers.

Kallias was all deadly grace as he sheathed his knife and held the rifle expertly in one hand. “I’ll get you two to safety or allies. But then I have to go get Erasmus so we can get the little pets out.” 

“Lazar, which exit is safest?” Berenger spoke again into his microphone.

“North side,” He spoke immediately, though he sounded frazzled. “Those Akielons, gods they are something.”

“Tell me about it,” Berenger could only imagine, since he was sure they had equal skill and at least twice the strength of beautiful Kallias and Erasmus. 

There was the rattle of gunfire from somewhere close and Kallias set off in a determined trot.

Ancel whimpered in pain every time Berenger’s feet hit the concrete floors as he ran after Kallias and Berenger bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed. When Kallias needed cover fire, Berenger was forced to drop Ancel’s legs so he could fire and Ancel screamed into Berenger’s chest.

“I’ll get you out of here Strawberry.” Berenger whispered, kissing Ancel’s forehead. “We’re so close...just a little longer please.”

There were bodies slumped down on the floor, swipes of red on the walls, and the sprinkler system was going off in certain areas of the complex. Berenger wondered at one point if they were the only three left alive. 

“Berry… am I…dying?”

There was a flash of golden hair from down the hall and Berenger almost sank to his knees in relief. “No. No, I’ve got you, Ancel. Everything is alright…” 

 


	18. Ancel Gets a Shit-Ton of Jewelry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!  
> So I have a business trip tomorrow and Friday and I'll be away from my computer until then. So you guys get an early present this Wednesday afternoon!  
> Finally the chapter you have all been waiting for! It's what he DESERVES dammit! A rare Ancel POV and we get to see how soft he is for Berry...as well as what a shitty patient he is haha! He is 100% going to rip any stitches when he gets pent-up and jumps Berenger's bones.  
> Next chapter is the epilogue kind of of tying everything up and I'm so emotional about it! I hope you enjoy!

**Ancel Gets a Shit-Ton of Jewelry**

Ancel was duly aware that the bed he was on was the softest thing he had ever felt...before pain shot through him in bolts of white lightning. His brain was a fog and he wondered briefly if he was dead. The torture chambers in the bowels of the training center could not be so comfortable.

Though it was painful to even open his eyes, Ancel willed himself to do it, if only to see what the afterlife was like.

The first thing he noticed were the enormous windows set in wooden walls the color of chai tea. When his eyes adjusted he saw out the windows and might have gasped if his lungs did not feel bruised. The view was gemstone beautiful: lush emerald forests, ivory mountains, and an oval sapphire of a lake set in a jade green lawn. The sky had never looked so clear and blue.

After staring at concrete walls for days and thinking that he was going to die, Ancel looked at the view until his eyes watered.

He was alive, thank the gods, he was alive to see it.

Only after he had gotten his fill of the view did he take stock of the room he was in.

The floors were glossy wood closer to the shade of honey and all of the antique furniture was made of the same heavy wood. There were oil paintings of gardens and lily ponds hanging on the walls, and though most of the carvings and decorations were a bit out of fashion, Ancel could tell they were very valuable.

He was in a massive bed--larger than in any hotel room he had ever seen--with white silk sheets and dozens of pillows. There was some serious medical equipment by his bedside, monitoring his heart rate and giving him liquid vitamins through a clear plastic tube in his arm.

A glint caught his eye as he looked down at his bandaged hands and his breath stopped short again.

On his bandaged wrist was a delicate bracelet of woven gold chains, the metal heavy and real, the two dozen emeralds on it the same color as his eyes.

He could not feel anything through his mitten-like bandages so he lifted the gems to his cheek to feel their cool smooth facets against his skin. They brushed against something hanging heavy in his ears.

They were star sapphire earrings, heavy enough to tug on his earlobes, and brush the massive diamond necklace that wrapped around his neck and hung past the collar of his soft linen shirt. He felt himself shaking.

“Oh…my _god_ …” He had died then. This had to be heaven.

“ _Ancel_.”

It was heaven.

Berenger was standing in the doorway to Ancel’s left, with a steaming mug in one hand and a few books in the other.

He was a little unshaven, his hair was sticking out a bit on the sides, and he was dressed in khaki pants, but it was Berenger and he was smiling and he was _there_. Ancel dropped his wrist, uncaring of the jewels when Berenger was right fucking there. Some kind of soft noise escaped Ancel in lieu of calling Berenger’s name, but Berenger seemed to understand as Ancel opened his arms.

Berenger shuffled over, far too slowly, setting down the tea and books before sitting gingerly on the side of the bed. Ancel pitched into him, crying out in a mix of relief and searing pain.

“ _Hold me_ , Berry!”

He felt Berenger almost curve around him but his arms did not wrap around Ancel in that way that made him shiver. For a moment he felt cold fear that Berenger was angry with him.

“ _Berry_ \--”

“I _can’t._ ” Ancel felt lips on his forehead. “If I embrace you it will hurt your back.”

Ancel had completely forgotten about his back, but that explained the severe pain. “I don’t care. _Hold me_.” He nearly bloodied his lip biting back cries as Berenger gave in and gingerly wrapped his arms around Ancel’s waist.

“Ancel. Strawberry.”

He smelled like coffee and sunlight and clean clothes. He was so warm it hurt Ancel’s heart; he had been so ready not to see Berenger ever again that having him close was almost unbearable. He felt like crying but choked it back.

Even so, his voice came out high and wheezy. “I didn’t mean to Berry! I didn’t know...it was your name on the screen! I just ran out without thinking, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_!” He nearly retched remembering the pure panic he had felt the moment they had taken him. The moment he realized his mistake and knew he was as good as dead.

“Why are you sorry?” He felt Berenger’s lips press to his skin and Ancel closed his eyes to prevent tears. “They tricked you. They got us all...except Lazar, that crafty bastard.”

“It hurt.” Ancel thought of everything they had put him through in only three days. He hoped to the gods Berenger had not seen all that they had done to him. The doctors would have told him though. “It hurt so damn much…”

“They’re all dead now. They’re not going to hurt you anymore.”

They might still haunt him in nightmares, all those men and the tools and the cold concrete walls, but he could always wake up from it. “They cut my hair…” That was the first thing his handler had done and that had been crushing.

“You look beautiful with short hair too.” Berenger assured him. He released Ancel’s back and eased him back into the pillows so that he could look at Ancel’s face. “You’re _beautiful_.”

Tears leaked out and Berenger swiped them away with his thumbs. He was perfect.

“Will you suck me off and tell me what happened?” Ancel sniffed.

“I can’t do both at once.” Berenger said after a long moment of puzzlement. Clearly he was trying to think of a way it could work out and Ancel giggled even though it hurt his back.

“Tell me first, I’m curious. What have I missed?”

Nothing could have prepared Ancel to hear that he had been drugged out of his mind for four days. That golden pet had slipped him a scalpel to cut himself free--or kill himself, should worse come to worse--and Ancel had remembered searing pain and endless splatters of blood as he sawed through the straps on his body. He had started to lose himself when he began to stagger out of the room. He vaguely recalled the rattle of gunfire and slipping on floors of blood; then Berry’s handsome face, Berry right above him, like the god of corduroy.

There had also been a lizard staring up at him but that might have been a hallucination.

“We drove you to the hospital.” Berry added when Ancel’s memory began to fail him. “It was a fucking mess.”

“Can I lay on you while you tell me?” Ancel asked, hating that they were not closer. He made his eyes as wide as they would go in hopes he would look sweet and innocent...even though he wasn’t wearing mascara. “The pillows are hurting my back.” (That was a lie but he could see Berenger wavering). “Without your shirt on? _Please_?”

Seeing Ancel bedridden must have made Berenger more indulgent than usual. He shed his shirt in one smooth motion and Ancel wished he had asked for a glass of wine beforehand.

He was insanely cut.

Ancel was hard as Berenger gently cradled him again and slid underneath Ancel on the bed so that Ancel was lying on his stomach. Although the jostling hurt his wounds, it was nice to have even the soft touch of the feather pillows off his back. Berenger’s heat, his heartbeat pulsing through Ancel’s ears had Ancel even harder than before.

He thanked the gods silently for allowing him to live another day before cursing them abjectly for having him so fucked up when Berenger was being so sweet.

“What else happened?”

“Oh, yes.” Despite the fact that Ancel had not asked for a mirror for fear of seeing his hair, he did like that the shortness made it easier for Berenger’s fingers to massage his scalp. “You should be pleased to note that all the other escorts in the building were evacuated and that all Regency men were murdered.” Ancel was pleased to hear it; just knowing his handler was dead was one of the most beautiful feelings that had ever gone through him. “Well...the city is in a bit of an... _uproar_ , so to speak. My boss and his husband are causing utter hell for what remains of the Regency so I got permission to take you out of the city.”

“Where are we now?” Ancel asked, remembering the amazing view he had seen earlier out his window.

“Oh! I thought it was obvious.” Berenger smiled down at him and Ancel felt his heart skip beats. “We’re in my childhood home. The one in the mountains.”

“B-But--!” If Ancel could have sat up dramatically, he would have. He had imagined Berenger’s childhood home as some ghastly palace in a haunted forest, all twisted spires and black stone and bars on the windows. Not some hunting lodge in the most gorgeous landscape he had ever seen.

“You said you wanted to come here.” Berenger said, running his fingers through what was left of Ancel’s hair. “So when things started to go to hell in the city I had the doctors bring you here and set up a private facility.”

“I don’t remember that either…“

“You were kind of drugged out of your mind.”

“Shame I missed it.”

“I can give you more if you’re in pain.” Berenger said, kissing Ancel’s wrists.

“My asshole is painfully empty.” Ancel said, debating internally whether or not he was willing to die for the dick. Chances were good as Berenger glanced down at him blushing even as he raised his eyebrow in disbelief.

“The physician would kill me.” Always sensible, Berry was.

“You hired a personal physician?” Ancel was learning more and more each moment about Berenger’s obvious wealth and it made him feel dizzy. It had never happened like this, loving the man more than his money. “There’s only the three of us here?”

“Of course I did. And no the groundskeeper and the man I’ve hired to care for my horses live in this house. I’ve hired a temporary housekeeper and we’ve set up the physician in one of the guest rooms.”

“Did he say how long it would take me to recover?” Ancel used his amazed good humor over having a personal physician to push through what was sure to be terrible news. His back felt stiff with new scabs and he did not even want to think about his fingers. He could feel that they were splinted and wrapped tightly together so he couldn’t even begin to attempt to move them.

Berenger had a dark expression pass over his face before he composed himself. “She. Your physician is a woman. The lashes should be healed in three to five weeks. And she says at least eight weeks for your fingers.” Ancel was very bad at keeping his expression neutral and he was upset at the thought of being coddled for so long.

“How are we going to _fuck_?” Ancel asked and it came out a bit more desperate than he intended.

Berenger laughed and kissed Ancel’s lips. “We’ll figure something out. For now, I have something that might make you feel better.” Berenger shifted him without hurting him and Ancel felt better for that alone. He watched Berenger over his shoulder, watching as his lover retrieved some massive wooden box from the antique vanity. “What have you got for me, Berry? Is it a puzzle.”

“In a way.” He said.

Ancel watched as Berenger’s elegant fingers twisted the metallic lock from what looked like random curls of vines to one of those fat flowers with dozens of tightly layered petals. Berenger opened the heavy lid and Ancel gasped at the sparkle.

The inner lining of the box was dark blue velvet but it could scarcely be seen through the sheer amount of jewelry packed inside.

Ropes of pearls in pink, black, and white, oval cut sapphires, rubies like droplets of blood, a queen’s ransom of emeralds, and diamonds, so many diamonds Ancel could hardly breathe for the sight of them. If his hands were not broken he would have reached out with trembling fingers to touch them and he could only let his head drop to the pillows in disbelief.

Even the priceless pieces in his ears and on his wrist and neck paled in comparison.

Berenger’s voice was liquid warmth; it raised goosebumps on Ancel’s skin. “I cannot give you as many diamonds as there are lights in the city but...I can get close. There’s more in the safe downstairs.”

If Ancel had been the fainting type, he would have passed out at the thought.

“They’re for me?” Ancel’s voice came out very small. He was no fool; he knew that this jewelry had belonged to Berenger’s mother. Never in his life had he imagined someone would give him anything like this.

“Of course they are.” Berenger said as he began to drape gems haphazardly across Ancel’s bare arms. “I love you.” As he smiled, those warm brown eyes Ancel loved so much began to brim over until Berenger was crying on his mother’s jewels.

The whipping and the rape and the bones of his fingers breaking and the feeling of his heart withering in those dark gray cells did not break him. It took a lot of hell to break Ancel and he was fucking proud of it. But it was now clear that Berenger was some other kind of force he was wholly unprepared for.

The gems fell forgotten to the bed as Ancel all but fell apart and sobbed against Berenger’s chest.

He had never allowed himself to break down before.

At least he was in good company.

 

As a rule, Ancel usually hated nature.

He hated bugs, disliked most other creatures that were loud, hairy, and smelly, and he did not do well in the extreme heat, the extreme cold, or the dirt. About a month ago he would have been perfectly fine to never set foot in nature again.

But Berenger had set up a comfortable wicker chair on the long dock so that Ancel could wrap himself up in a blanket and relax by the lake for hours.

Ancel adored the lake.

It was so calm and smooth, reflecting the color of the sky like a dark blue mirror. When he was feeling well enough to move about, he would often select one of the dozen new silk robes in his wardrobe and slowly make his way outside. Even after a few weeks, he still handled himself carefully, not wanting his back to scar horribly even though he was itching to dance and stretch and do some yoga.

His fingers were still strapped together so he was not able to do some of the elaborate puzzles Berenger had in his home. He could have watched videos on Berenger’s cell phone but he was terrified of even touching cell phones after knowing his had somehow been hacked by the Regency.

Mostly he brought out books.

There was one about vintage fashion on his lap when he heard the creaking of wooden boards behind him.

“Berry!”

Berenger had obviously come from the stables because he was in his riding clothes and he smelled like hay. Ancel was not sure how he felt about the large, smelly horses but if Berenger loved them...he was willing to tolerate the beasts.

“Strawberry.” Berenger kissed Ancel’s cheek before sitting down on the wood of the dock, his head leaning against Ancel’s knees. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He was. Every day he felt more like himself. He was surprised to find that he didn’t even miss the city at times. “How was your ride?”

“Relaxing. You should really try it once you feel up to it.” Berenger said hopefully and Ancel knew he would have to try if only to make Berenger happy. “You can do anything you want now.”

Ancel took a shaky breath and looked at the sky. It was endless. “That...is going to take me a while to get used to.”

“We can think about it.” Berenger said, kissing the top of Ancel’s bandaged hand. “You can do whatever you want. You can ride horses or work at a luxury department or a jewelry store. You don’t have to do anything; you can stay home and spend money and wait for me to come home in your underwear and heels.” Ancel snorted; in the past that idea might have pleased him but now...there were so many other things he could do. “We could travel.” He kissed Ancel’s knees. “I could teach you how to shoot. You’d have to cover up your hair though.”

Ancel laughed at the idea but then considered how much safer he would feel if he had a gun and he met someone who would try to scout him again.

Berenger reached up his hand to lovingly rub the tips of Ancel’s shaggy hair.

“Berry…”

“I want to give you the world.” Berenger said and Ancel smiled down at him.

Berenger’s world was sweet and simple and comfortable. Ancel had never appreciated that before, wanting glitz and glam and the penthouse suite. He could have both that and all that Berenger could offer him: puzzle boxes, books, comfortable clothes, and loving sex. Everything in Berenger’s world he would happily give to Ancel and then more. The future was not as scary with him there.

“Can we make a new set of rules for the house?” He suggested.

 


	19. Berenger Ties Up Some Loose Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I can't believe it and I almost don't want it to happen but this story is complete!  
> I had so much fun doing this and first and foremost I would like to thank Kittendiamore (AKA Nikanndros) for letting me use her Assassins AU universe to build this story up in ;) She is awesome!  
> Thank you all for coming to read this story and I appreciate the support so much! It's always a gamble with these side character stories but I'm so glad you all seemed to enjoy reading about Berry and Strawberry's adventures <3 You all are so great and I hope you enjoy this little epilogue!  
> Next story will come in about 1-2 weeks so be on the lookout for it and (as always)  
> ENJOY!

**Berenger Ties Up Some Loose Ends**

A black car—auspicious, glossy, and expensive—rolled up to the curb and, no sooner had it stopped, the rear door was pushed open. Black suede boots with a heel sharp and thin enough to slice open a letter set expertly on the concrete of the sidewalk. 

People stared.

It was not every day they saw such long legs and vibrant red hair. And _such_  an outfit. The boots were thigh-high and stopped just under the hem of a pair emerald green shorts cinched with a designer belt. The shirt was a button down in even darker green, tucked into the shorts and most of the buttons undone to reveal a pale freckled chest crisscrossed with the satiny black bands of lingerie. The teardrop emerald pendant that hit the middle of his breastbone looked startlingly real, despite being so large. 

The man who offered this shocking, statuesque beauty his arm was handsome as well, in a quiet, graceful sort of way. His bespoke charcoal gray suit was fine enough that no one would question the wildness of his partner's ensemble. He had an edge of power to him.

An astute observer would notice that the two of them hardly glanced around the interior of the lobby as they were too involved with each other. 

At the elevator, the man in the dark suit cupped his companion's lower back and whispered something in his ear. That dark red bob shimmered as the tall young man laughed at what had been said and the women behind the lobby desk considered how well the young man would look amongst their ranks. There was no way he would, they thought, since he was simply too high class for this kind of work. 

All too soon the handsome couple slipped into the glossy black elevator, leaving only a soft scent of jasmine behind. 

The maître d' of the restaurant at the top of the hotel had a similar opinion of his two new guests as they exited the elevator. As much as was his duty to greet and seat the guests, he was also a polite guard at keeping crass people from gaining entrance.

These two had no problem passing muster. They oozed wealth and elegance and he was more than delighted to show them to their table by the window that looked out over the city.

The tall, redhead also had gorgeously long legs.

The one in the suit shot him a cool glare as he went to get their course list for the evening. They were going to be enjoying a seven-course meal with wine pairings at every course. He could have sworn he heard one of them call the other ‘Berry’ as he approached with the menu and the aperitif.

And when they were ready for the dessert course, the maître d' eavesdropped a little, walking slowly away as their glasses clinked in a toast.

“Happy birthday Ancel. I have one more gift for you.”

The maître d' sincerely hoped it wasn’t something so clichéd and unromantic as a hotel key card.

 

Berenger rapped his gloved knuckles on the wooden door, stepping back so that his nice briefcase did not scuff anything. He heard movement inside and his heartbeat pumped like liquid fire.

He thought of Laurent smiling while unleashing verbal torture on people who had no idea what was coming their way and allowed the same beatific smile to spread across his face. He felt like his teeth could shatter as the door swung open to reveal the man he had been looking for.

He was probably in his early fifties, still in fairly good shape so he must have been very stout and intimidating six years before, though he took care to appear relaxed and kind. Berenger was not fooled, though he continued to smile. 

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. You can." Berenger said in his most authoritative tone. He did not hear the ghost of his father in it, but it still had an edge of murder to it if one listened hard enough. "My name is Berenger and I work as a private detective." He knew there were no video cameras or recording devices so he used his real name. "Might I come in? I would hate to discuss matters of money in the open like this."  

Berenger saw him visibly relax at the mention of money and he opened the door wider so that Berenger could step through. 

“Idiot.” Lazar sighed through the earpiece.

Berenger surveyed the apartment as he stepped inside. It was a typical bachelor’s apartment: dark, disorganized, and clearly not prepared for surprise guests. He stepped gingerly over the massive tangle of shoes in the entrance and surveyed innocently. He was looking for easy exits and happily found none.

“May I sit?”

“Of course. Coffee?”

“Oh. No thank you.” Berenger replied, not trusting the brackish mix that sat at the bottom of the pot. Even more alarming was when the man poured what was left into a mug and threw it into the microwave.

When the man settled into the armchair across from him, Berenger immediately launched into the speech he had prepared.

“Sir I represent the detective agency of Dord and Sons,” Lazar cackled joyously in his ear. “We are certified by the FKAA as both a detective and loan collection agency. I have the proper paperwork and credentials here if you would like to peruse them.” He saw the man’s eyes glaze over in the way that only bureaucracy could cause. _Good_. It would lure him into a false sense of security. “Luckily for you sir, I am not here to collect any sort of debt but I am in the process of looking for a missing person. Of course any information leading to the location of said person will result in fair compensation.”

He perked up at the mention of compensation. “I mean I can’t guarantee anything but I’ll try my best. Who are you looking for?”

“Excellent. I have a photograph here if you care to look at it.”

Berenger withdrew the picture, keeping his briefcase open as he handed it to the man across from him. He kept his expression smooth as the man looked and blanched white. 

"Wh-where did you get this?" He demanded, his face mottling several colors. What a terrible poker face.

“We are looking for this young man and have found that you knew him in the past. Would you be able to tell me about him.”

The man relaxed slightly. “Ah...this kid was a nephew of the woman I used to date. Relationship went south after he just up and left one night. I was fond of the kid--Ancel, I think his name was--and I did try to go to the city a couple of times to find him.”

“ _Holy_ shit.” Lazar whispered in Berenger’s ear. “He must have known. I bet he went to all the whorehouses to look--.”

“I _see_.” Berenger said, a bit too sharply. “And you were never able to locate him?”

“No. It’s a damn shame. He was sweet. I’m sure he grew into a hell of a beauty.” There was an undercurrent of dreaminess to his tone that Berenger did not care for; he did not like this man even _thinking_ of Ancel. “Why did you say you were trying to find him again?”

Berenger sighed. “I must confess, I haven’t been fully honest with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“This photo I obtained from your own personal collection. The one with all the redheads?” He added when the man seemed too stunned to speak. “It’s somewhat of a fetish of yours I believe.” Berenger had been unfamiliar with the term until Ancel suggested he might have a ‘nipple fetish’.

“How did you--?” The man was white.

“Lazar to the rescue.” Lazar laughed.

Berenger tilted his head as if in confusion. "I had one of my coworkers hack into your computer. He found it there." He had seen the pictures, seemingly innocent snapshots of what might have been a family portrait, had everyone not been cropped out, save the gangly redheaded teenager. There was no mistaking Ancel and it was a good thing none of the pictures were compromising.

Berenger would have brought Laurent’s knives if that were the case.

“A harmless preference...unless of course the target is only fourteen and the nephew of your girlfriend.” Berenger let the savagery sink in. He was not fucking around anymore.

“What the fuck--?” White had flushed to red and the man stood from the chair so that he loomed over Berenger. “I don’t know who you think you are but you need to get the _fuck_ out of here!”

“How rude.” Lazar said dismissively.

He reminded Berenger of his father: angry, red-faced, and predatory. Gently, he returned the photograph to his briefcase and felt cool metal. His fury was equally cold.

“Your lack of denial is alarming.”

Berenger thought of the sweet, glowing number of Ancel’s freckles and withdrew his pistol. He felt nothing but satisfaction as he fired two shots into the man’s kneecaps. His scream was high-pitched and satisfying as he pitched forward and slammed his head into the corner of the coffee table.

There was a hairline crack in the glass top of the table. Shame.

“What the fuck? What the _fuck_?”

Berenger sighed and got to his feet. “How are we doing Lazar? Any activity?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t stick around for much longer though. Kiss him goodnight and be on your berry way.”

“Thank you. If I see any sex toys or drugs in here, I’ll send them your way.”

“Oh Berry, don’t threaten me with a good time, you minx.”

Berenger muted the microphone, not wanting Lazar to hear the rest. This was private. He crouched down next to the man who looked up at him in a mix of fear and fury.

“Who are you? Who the _fuck_ are you?”

Berenger squeezed the trigger again and the man’s pelvis exploded, his dick blasted away into a spray of red. His eyes rolled back in his head from the pain and he groaned low in his throat.

“That boy in the photo? Ancel? He ran to get away from you. And after something of a nightmarish bitch of a situation, he became my roommate and since he’s a force of nature he wore me down after a while. We’re dating. He’s my boyfriend and I love him and he’s told me _all_ about you.”

“You--!”

He shut up the moment Berenger pressed the barrel of his gun into the man’s forehead. “My profession is...well, I kill people for a living, you see. And I’m very good at it so let me just say,” he thought about Ancel warm and curled up in his arms, “you’re not going to live past today.”

His eyes grew wide and Berenger did not give him the time to respond. Only enough time to let the words sink in before the brains followed in the way of the dick and kneecaps. Berenger stood up calmly, turning the safety on his gun, and placing it back into his briefcase.

He contemplated spitting on the man’s corpse before he left but...that would leave evidence.

Instead he took the mostly full cup of disgusting coffee and splashed it on the body before turning away to go home.

 

Ancel stepped out of the car, brow furrowed in confusion as to where they were. Surely, Berenger thought, this small plant shop three hours from their city apartment was not the exotic locale Ancel had been expecting.

Berenger put his hand on the small of Ancel’s back reassuring him. “We’re here.”

“Where are we?” Ancel asked, looking around, probably to see if he recognized his surroundings.

“Trust me.” Berenger kissed the back of Ancel’s neck, just above where the only pale bolt of whip scar remained. “Come on. Let’s go in.”

There was some bell above the door that chimed in announcement of their entrance and Berenger saw a flash of red from behind the numerous leafy plants. It took a long moment for the proprietor--a freckled woman in her late forties with ropes of black beads around her neck and a champagne-colored satin blouse--to look up from where she was tying up some dried flowers with twine.

“Hello.” Berenger called out.

“Hello, sir. How can I he--” Her mouth went slack, eyes wide, and skin blanching white. Her eyes were emerald green. Ancel jumped, his attention torn from the plants as the woman stood and her chair clattered to the wood floors. “ _Ancel_?”

Ancel’s hand trembled inside of Berenger’s. “Oh... _gods_ …”

He could not get any other words out because the woman was running out from behind the counter, her wild, curly, blood red hair streaming out behind her. She all but collided with Ancel and chanted his name, her hands stroking his matching hair. Ancel looked up at Berenger with several emotions warring for dominance on his face.

Disbelief seemed to be winning.

His arms instinctively embraced her back and Berenger smiled at him. It must have felt so good to come home.

 


End file.
